


As We Triumph

by butterflyslinky



Series: Gotham Fairytales [5]
Category: DCU
Genre: Abuse, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Fairy Tale Retellings, Major Character Injury, Multi, Puddocky
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-10
Updated: 2021-01-10
Packaged: 2021-03-14 12:13:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 10
Words: 63,343
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28670553
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/butterflyslinky/pseuds/butterflyslinky
Summary: Ra's al Ghul must find an heir. Damian Wayne has been summoned to compete for the crown.
Relationships: Clark Kent/Bruce Wayne, Diana (Wonder Woman)/Lois Lane, Jason Todd/Kara Zor-El, Jonathan Kent/Damian Wayne, Tim Drake/Kon-El | Conner Kent
Series: Gotham Fairytales [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/865080
Kudos: 27
Collections: Gotham Fairy Tales





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> There will be more backstory to this at some point in the future.

Ra's al Ghul smiled as he stepped before the court. “My people,” he said. “My friends. Many of you have inquired of late who I would appoint as my heir since Prince Yurem has been deposed.”

There was a murmur throughout the court. They had been wondering—Ra's was a good King, at least for them, but he was growing old, and with only an out-of-favor daughter behind him, there was no official heir to the throne.

“It has been a difficult decision,” Ra's continued. “But I believe I have found the correct heir.” He waved and a strong middle-aged man stepped up. “I believe that my cousin Slade Wilson, distant though he may be, will be the best successor to rule Sataria.”

There were more murmurs before another man stepped forward. “I challenge this decision,” he declared, white face angry.

Ra's glared. “You have no right, nephew,” he said. “When there is no official heir, the King may select any man from among his relatives.”

“And any other man among his family can challenge it,” Dusan declared.

“Dusan, you cannot…”

“I can.” Dusan glared, pale eyes and white hair shining bright in the court. “I call for the ke’la manji. Let the people decide which of us should be the heir.”

“Which of any man,” Talia said suddenly from her father’s side. “You know the law, Dusan…any man among the family may compete.”

Dusan glared at her. Ra's considered for a minute, his face sour.

“Your Majesty,” one of the councilors said. “Your nephew and daughter are correct. Once a ke’la manji has been called, one must be held. And all eligible contestants must be given a chance to win.”

Ra's sighed. “Very well,” he said. “The ke’la manji will be held upon the New Year.”


	2. Chapter 1

Damian hated family breakfasts.

Not that they had them often, but there were occasions when they would all wake up in time, and those occasions were always very noisy for eight in the morning on a Saturday.

Damian picked at his eggs while listening to all the noise around him. His father was reading the paper, ignoring the chaos, while Clark fussed with the coffee maker. Dick, Steph and Tim were all arguing about upgrades to their corporations, while Barbara and Cass gossiped about some awful show they had watched the night before. Jason and Kara were whispering and giggling together, and Diana and Lois were talking about some local political thing Lois was writing about.

It was nice, in a way, but Damian wasn’t sure he could take much more of it.

Alfred entered the room, tray in hand with little stacks of mail on it. He walked around the table, passing out the letters quietly. Bruce immediately started scanning the bills, no doubt mentally noting who was going to have their credit cards suspended that month. Dick, Steph and Tim did the same, all writing notes on their phones as they did so.

To Damian’s surprise, Alfred dropped a letter next to him. No one ever sent Damian anything—he was only sixteen, most of his correspondence was done by email. He picked it up and felt his stomach drop.

“Drake,” Damian said. “I believe we are in trouble.”

Tim looked up at the envelope Damian was holding and went white. “That’s…” he gasped. “That’s the royal seal of Sataria.”

The table fell silent. Diana was glancing between Tim and Damian while Bruce looked like he was about to smash his coffee cup.

“You’d better see what it is,” Diana finally said. “I mean…”

“The King has not contacted me since I was born,” Damian said. “Whatever he wants now cannot be good.”

“If he’s contacting you after sixteen years of silence, it must be important,” Diana said.

Damian tsked and opened the envelope. The paper inside was thick, expensive, and the letter was written entirely in Satarian. Damian sighed and started reading slowly, sounding out words carefully.

“What is a ke’la manji?” he finally asked when he was done.

Tim’s face cleared slightly. “Is that what that is?” he asked. “The summons?”

“I think so,” Damian said. “If a ke’la manji is something you are summoned for.”

“Can someone please tell me what’s going on?” Bruce asked.

Tim sighed. “Ke’la manji, roughly translated, means challenge of princes,” he explained. “It’s an ancient Satari tradition…I don’t think there’s been one in several generations…not since the Turks conquered us, at the very least.”

“That…doesn’t explain anything,” Dick said.

“So,” Tim said. “When you have a King who’s getting old who has no official male heir, he needs to choose one…Sataria has a very patriarchal view of these things, or Ra's does, anyway. The King is allowed to choose any of his male relatives over the age of sixteen. However, any of his other male relatives can challenge the judgment, which means a ke’la manji is held. It’s a contest to determine which of them is most worthy of ruling Sataria.”

“So why am I being summoned?” Damian asked.

“Every male over the age of sixteen who can prove any drop of royal blood is eligible to compete,” Tim said. “Who haven’t been convicted of treason,” he added as Steph opened her mouth. “Trust me, if there was any possibility I could retake the throne, I’d do it. Anyway, all the eligible contestants must be notified that the ke’la manji is being held at least six months in advance.”

Damian nodded. “And since I am his grandson, even though I am…unacknowledged…he has to notify me.”

“He probably thinks you won’t go,” Tim said. “He has to give you the chance to compete, but you’re not obligated to take it.”

“And you won’t,” Bruce added. “What’s going on in Sataria isn’t your problem.”

“But Bruce,” Tim said. “If Ra's is looking for an heir, it means he’ll be leaving the throne soon…this would be the perfect time for an uprising!”

“Your brother is sixteen,” Bruce snapped. “I’m not sending him into the lion’s den to further your political goals.”

“But he’s…”

“Old enough to make his own decision,” Clark cut in quietly. They all turned to look at him and he raised an eyebrow. “Sixteen’s old enough t’decide if he wants t’do it. And don’t say it ain’t our problem, Bruce. It became our problem when Tim arrived.”

Bruce and Clark had a silent argument with their eyes for a minute before Bruce sighed. “All right,” he said. “You can decide for yourself if you want to attempt it.” He sounded disapproving.

Damian was quiet. “What does the contest entail?” he asked.

“It starts on the New Year,” Tim said. “With a si’la roj tournament. The top three competitors move on to the next part of the contest—four quests, one for each season. They can be anything, as long as they don’t put the contestants in unnecessary danger and can be completed within the borders of Sataria. They’re set by the King, but judged by the people.”

“By the people?” Damian repeated. “So…it is more like an election.”

“Somewhat,” Tim said. “They are limited to the royal family, but…that was kind of the original point. To see which of the heirs could earn the loyalty of the people…because in the end, that is the most important thing a King can have.”

“So it is just meeting people and completing some fetch quests,” Damian said. “I can do that…why not?”

“Well…murdering the competition is an acceptable practice,” Tim said.

“Which is why I object to you going,” Bruce added. “It’s too dangerous.”

Damian considered for a moment before he looked up. “I am an al Ghul,” he said. “It is my right to compete, and I will compete. Even if you do not wish it, Father…it is my birthright.”

Bruce opened his mouth to object, but Damian cut him off. “Kent is right. It is my decision, and I am making the decision to go.”

“It could be a trap,” Bruce said.

“It could be,” Damian agreed. “But if it was, I do not think it would be this obvious.”

Bruce glared for a minute before he sighed. “Fine,” he said. “If that’s what you want. But I’m going with you.”

“As am I,” Diana said. “In disguise,” she added as Lois opened her mouth. “I don’t know what reaction Ra's al Ghul will have to me, but I’ve been Damian’s bodyguard for five years and I’m not leaving him now.”

“Master Bruce, I hope you are not planning to be away from me for an entire year,” Alfred said.

“I’m an adult, Alfred.”

“The last time I was away from you for longer than a week, I came home to find you had gotten married and adopted a child in my absence.” Alfred picked up his own phone and started tapping out messages. “I will be coming with you, whether you like it or not.”

Bruce ducked his head. “Yes, Alfred.”

Dick and Steph exchanged a look. “New heir,” Dick said.

“I’ve got contracts in Sataria,” Steph said. “Left over from Luthor.”

“And I’m looking to get a few,” Dick added.

“Would help to be ingratiated to whoever the next King is,” Steph said.

“Better renew our passports,” Dick said.

Clark, Kara and Lois already had their phones out. “Journalist visas can’t be too hard to get, can they?” Lois asked.

“Wouldn’t think so,” Clark said. “Not for somethin’ like this.”

“And the refugees will want to know what’s happening,” Kara said.

“We all know how to do video,” Lois said.

“Gazette will want pictures,” Clark said.

Damian watched them. “And I suppose you will all worm your ways in as well?” he snapped at his remaining siblings.

“Kara’s not going without me,” Jason said.

The other three looked innocent. “If Cass or I set foot in Sataria, we’ll be executed,” Tim said.

“And someone will have to run everything back here,” Barbara added.

Damian tsked. “Fine,” he said. “I will allow all of you to accompany me.”

“Please, Dami,” Dick said. “We all have ulterior motives. You’re just an excuse.”

Everyone laughed, and secretly, Damian was pleased.

*

Tim dialed the phone with shaking hands. He knew what he was asking was suicide, but he couldn’t let Damian go without it.

It only took a few rings before there was an answer. “Sup, Tim?”

“Hey, Kon,” Tim said. “I need a favor.”

“What kind of favor?” Conner asked. “Cause I’m kind of in the middle of something right now.”

“More like a job,” Tim amended. “I’ll pay.”

“I’m listening.”

“Ra's al Ghul has called for a ke’la manji,” Tim said. “And Damian’s been summoned.”

“I see.” Conner was quiet for a minute. “Is he going?”

“Yes,” Tim said. “And so am I.”

“Tim…”

“The time is now, Kon. The transition isn’t going to be smooth, we both know that. The people can be rallied to Damian’s side, but only if I lead them. So I have to go back.”

“We have to go back.” Tim could hear the conviction in Conner’s voice and knew better than to argue. “If you’re putting yourself in danger, I’m going with you.”

“Fine,” Tim said. “I just need you to get us in and out without Ra's noticing.”

“When’s the contest start?”

“New Year’s…we can probably go in after, we’ll have to change our strategy if Damian doesn’t get past the si’la roj.”

“Got it…until then, all you do is book a ticket to Cairo as Alanna.”

“All right.” Tim hung up the phone and turned around.

Cass was standing behind him, silent and staring. Tim sighed. “So you know.”

“I’m going with you.” It was a command, the type only she could give.

“Cass…”

“When we left, we agreed—all together or none at all.” She stepped up to him, her eyes hard. “That applies to going back as well.”

Tim sighed. “All right,” he said. “I know I can’t dissuade you. But…are you sure you want to?”

She half-smiled. “Damian is my brother as well,” she said. “I’ll do anything to help him. Besides…Sataria was beautiful when I saw it.” She slipped her hand into Tim’s. “It will be so nice to enter it again…as your sister instead of your wife.”

Tim smiled back. “Thank you.”

*

Diana was more afraid than she’d like to admit.

Four times. Four times that Ra's al Ghul had tried to have her killed, and now she was walking straight into his hands. For Damian, sure—she’d do anything for Damian. But she knew it was a bad idea.

She couldn’t sleep all night. Finally, she extracted herself from Lois’s hold and wandered out to the balcony.

Tim was there, as she’d suspected, staring out over Gotham. She joined her brother silently.

“It won’t be easy,” Tim said. “No matter what tasks Ra's sets.”

“He is clever…strong…I don’t worry about the tasks.”

“No,” Tim said. “It’s the court that concerns me.”

“Dangerous?”

“It’s a pit of vipers,” Tim said. “Talia’s a snake, Dusan is a brute, Wilson…” He shuddered. “And don’t even get me started on Ra's. And that’s just our family…the rest of the court is corrupt, sycophantic, conniving…every one of them would sell their own mother for just a shred of power. It’s not a place for the pure, or kind, or innocent…that type gets eaten alive in there.”

Diana half-smiled. “Well,” she said. “It’s a good thing our Damian isn’t any of those things.” At Tim’s look, she sighed. “I’ve shadowed him for five years. Damian is becoming a good man. He is generous, and nurturing, and he believes in freedom and democracy and all of that. But he’s hard. He’s stubborn. Reckless, yes, but incorruptible. He’s growing into a fine person…and I believe he could make a good King. He’s not as naïve as you’d like…not as innocent. But he is strong.”

Tim nodded. “He is.” He looked at his sister, conflict in his eyes. “I should let you know…Cass and I are going back.”

“I thought you might. You couldn’t stay out of Sataria when the rest of us are going.” Diana leaned on the railing. “What’s your plan?”

“If Damian passes the si’la roj, I’ll rally the people to his side. Undermine Ra's from the shadows…move towards the democracy while he’s distracted by the competition.”

“And if Damian doesn’t pass?”

“We go to war.” At Diana’s look, Tim sighed. “It’s always come down to that, Diana. The people won’t stay quiet forever. Our past rebellions failed, but this time…Ra's is old. He’s weak. If Damian isn’t in the running, attacking during the ke’la manji is our only chance. Without an official heir, the nobles will be too busy in-fighting and grabbing for power…the perfect time to depose all of them and reinvent the entire country.”

“But that’s how you get terrorist groups taking over. That’s how you destabilize a region.”

“Not if they have a strong leader with a plan. Maybe I’m not perfect…but I’ve had almost ten years to work on it. I have a solid system…it’s just a matter of getting the people to agree to it…and they’ll agree to almost anything I tell them to.”

“And if you can’t do it…”

“…who can?”

Diana nodded. “I will stand by you, brother,” she said. “If Damian goes through the ke’la manji, I will ensure he survives. If he does not, I will lead your armies. Either way…it’s time to go home.”

*

Damian was not surprised that both Tim and Diana were waiting in the training room the next day. Nor was he surprised at the swords.

“Let me guess,” he said. “You are here to drill me in si’la roj.”

“Yes,” Tim said. “You could have as many as fifty opponents that I can think of at the moment, and last time we did a tournament you only beat Steph and Jason. If you cannot even beat people not in the family, you have no chance of winning against the rest of them.”

Damian tsked. “So you will put me against the actual rightful heirs of Sataria?”

“If you can beat us, you can come in third in the tournament,” Diana said. “Here.” She tossed him a sword and Tim turned on the stereo. “Si’la!”

Damian sighed and took his stance. “Roj et ni!”

They began the dance, their swords flashing. It was barely a minute before Diana knocked him down. “Up!” she said. “Get up and do it again! And we will continue until you knock me down!”

Damian groaned. “Can you not yield?”

“No,” Diana said. “You will only yield to three.”

Damian got up and they began again. And again. And again. Not once could Damian knock her down. He was tired, enraged, sweating, and Diana barely looked ruffled by the time Tim turned the music off.

“Lucky we’ve got six months to fix this,” he said. “Let’s start with your form.”

*

“Damian!”

Damian jumped as Dick came striding into the room. “What is it, Grayson?”

“I need you to run to the 7-11 and get me a large blue raspberry Slurpie, three bags of barbeque chips, and some of those little cupcake things Jason likes. On the double!”

Damian sighed and set his book aside to grab his wallet and keys. Over the last month, his siblings had been barging into his space at random to send him on ridiculous errands. They called it “training.” Damian called it “making him their bitch.”

Still, he reflected as he started his motorcycle, it could be worse. At least no one was trying to kill him on these little quests, and really, being everyone’s delivery service was better than the training Diana was putting him through. At any rate, he usually didn’t have sore muscles afterwards.

He returned fifteen minutes later with the requested items. Dick frowned over them before turning to the rest of the family, who had somehow managed to assemble in the kitchen before Damian got back.

“Hmm,” Dick said. “What do we think? Has the quest been fulfilled to your satisfaction?”

“These cupcakes are stale,” Jason said. “So no.”

“You did not specify they needed to be fresh!” Damian argued.

“But I did specify they needed to be the ones he likes,” Dick said. “Jason is displeased. Anyone else?”

“I think y’did jist fine,” Clark said, grabbing one of the bags of chips. “Though I think the ‘family-sized’ bag’a chips shoulda gone without sayin’.”

“Clark is displeased,” Dick said. “Steph, how’s the Slurpie?”

“Not mixed enough,” she said. “Zero of three, Damian.”

Damian sighed. “Are the people of Sataria this picky?”

He was met with a resounding “YES.”

*

“Why are we going down to New Arat today?” Damian asked as Diana led him through the streets.

“Because you need to meet your people,” she said. “Start ingratiating yourself to them…learn about their culture. You’ve been locked up in Wayne manor for too long…you need to get out in the world.”

Damian tsked. “They will not be voting,” he said.

“No,” Diana said. “But some of them have family in Sataria still who will. You need them all on your side.”

Damian sighed as they walked through the neighborhood. It was so crowded and noisy, music pouring out of shops and apartments, people shouting, fights, laughter, everything. Damian tried to keep up with Diana as she strode through like she came here every day, calling out greetings to many people as they passed.

They reached the center of the square, where people were gathering. Damian blinked when he spotted Lois near the front, camera in hand. “Oh, no,” he muttered.

Someone spotted him. “Our champion!” he called, and Damian found himself being pushed forward to the center of it all and up on a platform.

Diana smirked and raised an eyebrow. Damian swallowed. “Um…et’na dami,” he said.

The greeting was called back, the press of people pushing forward slightly.

“So…” Damian said, and cleared his throat. He could do this. He was a Wayne. Press was nothing new for him. “I am…happy to tell you that the ke’la manji has been called.”

There was a cheer from the people.

“I have been summoned by Ra's al Ghul to compete,” Damian said. “And it is with great pride that I accept the challenge.”

More cheering, along with a lot of flashing from Lois’s camera.

“I am doing my best to train for it,” Damian said. “And I hope I will represent Gotham well. You have all been a source of pride for me from my birth, and I hope you will all continue to support and inspire me in our homeland.”

More cheering, people calling his name, and it was all Damian could do to climb down and start shaking their hands, hearing their words of encouragement and support. Slowly, he relaxed. They were his people. He could win them over, here, and in Sataria.

*

Five months. Five months of training in si’la roj. Five months of random quests that his siblings always found fault with. Five months of spending his weekends in New Arat, talking to all his people. Five months of doing everything he would have to do in Sataria.

Diana led him into the ballroom in the traditional form-fitting clothing and mask he’d be expected to wear during the tournament. “All right,” she said as she opened the doors. “You’ll have to make do with only nine competitors, but if you can get through all of us, I’d say you have a realistic chance at making it into the contest.”

“Nine?” Damian said, mentally counting.

“The journalists decided to sit this one out,” Diana said. They entered the room, where the rest of the family was waiting.

Steph already had a sword in hand.

“It’s likely Ra's will put the list in the order of who he thinks is hardest to beat,” Tim said. “So you’ll have escalating opponents.”

“And we all know I suck at this,” Steph said.

“Right,” Tim said. He nodded to Kara, who turned on the music.

“Si’la!” Steph called.

“Roj et ni,” Damian called back, and the dance began.

Steph went down after barely a minute, to be immediately replaced by Jason. Easy enough, less than a few steps before Jason was down, Barbara leaping in after. A bit harder, a bit faster, but then she was down, and Bruce moved in to take her place.

That was difficult. Damian couldn’t remember the last time he’d taken his father in a si’la roj. Bruce wasn’t as quick or nimble as Damian, but he did have a considerable size advantage. It was also very clear that Bruce was pulling no punches. Damian had a sudden flash of insight as to how his parents had ever been married as the fight went on for almost ten minutes before Bruce stopped moving, clearly exhausted.

There was barely a pause before Dick leaped in, faster and more skillful than Bruce ever was, the grace of the gymnast obvious even now, his youth keeping him on his feet more easily, his blood drumming with the same rhythm as Damian’s. Damian was always hard-pressed against Dick, but now…now it was intense, earnest, the best either of them had, and it took fifteen minutes before Damian could knock Dick off-balance.

Cass spun in, her sword faster than her, her cat-like grace taking her past Damian quickly. She was a dancer, a warrior, a princess in her own right, but not Satari. She was quick and beautiful and Damian had to up his pace to match her. But he did match her, his weight giving him a slight advantage. It took nearly twenty minutes, but then she fell, her sword dropping beside her.

And then it was Tim. The true heir, the rightful ruler, and how could Damian even hope to win this one? Still, he raised his sword, caught his breath, and took the challenge, going into the dance without hesitation. Everyone he’d be against in Sataria would be just as skilled as Tim, if not moreso. Every one of them would be just as determined. Damian was only grateful the rules of a si’la roj would keep them from killing him before the contest really started.

Ten minutes. Fifteen minutes. Twenty. It was all Damian could do to stay on his feet, but finally, finally, he saw an opening. A twirl, a lunge, a graceful swing and Tim was forced to bend backwards too fast, throwing his hand out to catch himself by instinct.

The others cheered as Tim left the floor, grinning, and then it was Diana. Diana, the only person who had ever before put Tim on his back. Diana, the princess of Sataria, the warrior of Gotham, the person who had trained Damian and the undisputed champion of the manor, who had only lost a si’la roj once by a yield, and that was because it was a proposal.

This wasn’t. This was a battle.

The only thing keeping Damian going now was pure spite. He’d been dancing for almost an hour but he couldn’t stop. Couldn’t let her know for a minute he was flagging. This was only nine opponents, and most of them weren’t terribly skilled. He knew that during the real tournament, he could have to keep going all night.

Twist. Twirl. Lunge. Swords clashing, hands grasping, feet pounding as they moved, keeping the rhythm and the battle. Damian had watched Diana and Tim and admired them, how fluid they were together, how instinctively they did this, like they were having a conversation where each knew what the other was going to say already.

It wasn’t like that for him. He didn’t know what she would do next, where she would be, only that he had to block her, catch her, spin her and try to throw her off. But he couldn’t. No matter how he tried, she kept her feet and sword steady and moving.

If women could compete in the ke’la manji, Diana would win it easily. That thought alone spurred Damian on—if he could defeat Diana, the best si’la roj dancer he’d ever seen, after eight other opponents, he could defeat anyone.

A twist, a dip and he knew what to do. He took her hand, spun away, and let go, leveling a high kick at her to finish it.

To his shock, it worked. Diana stumbled, her hand brushing the ground, and it was over. Damian stood in the center of the ballroom, panting heavily as he removed the mask from his mouth and nose.

The family started cheering as Diana smiled. “You’re ready,” she said.

Damian nodded. “I feel ready. Today…I feel that I am King.”


	3. Chapter 2

“Yer worried,” Clark murmured as they waited in the terminal of Gotham International Airport.

Bruce sighed. “Not worried, just…well, I haven’t seen Talia in fifteen years and our divorce wasn’t exactly pleasant.”

Clark bit back a laugh. “That’s the part yer worried ‘bout?” he asked. “Runnin’ into yer ex-wife?”

“It’s better than worrying about everything else,” Bruce muttered darkly. At Clark’s look, he sighed. “Even setting aside that Damian is sixteen and going into a country he’s never been to to compete in a contest that could kill him…well, even if, by some miracle, he does win, what then? If Damian becomes the Crown Prince, I’ll either have to leave him in Sataria alone to try and assert his dominance over the court, or I’ll have to stay and help him, which means leaving all my other children on their own.”

“All yer ‘other children’ are adults,” Clark said. “And they’ll understand, whatever y’do…heck, the moment Damian decided t’go, every one’a ‘em was clamorin’ t’go with him. They’ll do anythin’ fer each other…and they know you’ll do the same.” He smiled. “Besides…yeah, Damian managed to win one over Diana once, but he’ll be up against more skilled competitors in Sataria. There’s a good chance he’ll git knocked out early and y’all’ll be able t’go straight back home right after. Yer worryin’ ‘bout things that might not happen, and if they do, they won’t happen fer an entire year.”

Bruce smiled. “You’re right,” he said. “Part of me almost hopes he does lose…that I can take him home and protect him.”

“And the other part?”

“The other part wants him to kick all their asses and show Ra's al Ghul that the heklin is just as worthy as his legitimate heirs.”

Clark frowned. “Y’all keep usin’ that word…heklin…what’s it mean?”

“I told you you should study your Satarian,” Bruce said.

“I have, but I don’t know all the slang.”

Bruce huffed out a breath. “Literally, it means something along the lines of ‘unacknowledged.’ More colloquially, the meaning is closer to ‘bastard.’”

“But y’and Talia were married?”

“Not in Sataria,” Bruce said. “Satari weddings are a bit different from American. You don’t need religion, or a judge, just the approval of the heads of both families. I’m not royal…rich, yes, old money even, but not her status...and she was supposed to marry someone else anyway. Ra's al Ghul disapproved of our union…and when she wrote that Damian had been born, Ra's declared him heklin and refused to have anything to do with him. I suspect Talia got one hell of an ‘I told you so’ when she finally left me.”

Clark shook his head. “In that case, I hope he does win,” he said.

Just then, all the kids returned, all very loud and chatty. Bruce grinned at Damian. “Did you get the order right?”

“Judge for yourself,” Damian said, passing over the fast food bag.

Bruce inspected everything carefully before he smiled. “Perfect,” he said. “Clark?”

“I’d say y’managed t’git it all right,” he said. “Without help from yer siblin’s?”

“Except Diana,” Dick said. “I looked up the rules and he is allowed to have a servant with him.”

“Oh, good,” Bruce said. “Where’s Alfred?”

“He said he was going to find a place that isn’t so noisy,” Steph said. “And then made a comment about how he’s sure he’ll be able to find us later.”

Clark laughed. “Well, he ain’t wrong.”

*

Thirteen. Hours.

Damian felt lucky that he’d gotten a window seat and that he was sitting with Diana and Lois, because if he’d been stuck between Dick and Steph like poor Alfred, the flight would have ended in at least one murder.

As it was, he was able to put in his headphones and read in peace, though he found he was having a lot of trouble focusing on his book. His mind kept wandering back to the reason for this trip.

He knew he was good at si’la roj, but nowhere near the best. And while his family’s practice quests were ridiculous, they weren’t exactly difficult. He didn’t know Ra's al Ghul beyond Tim’s stories and had no idea what sort of things he might ask for.

And he kept thinking of what Tim said, that murder was an acceptable method of eliminating the competition. Would the other contestants try to kill him? Damian trusted Diana at his back, but she couldn’t babysit him twenty-four/seven and Ra's had almost succeeded in killing her in the past. In spite of his scowling and grumbling, Damian actually rather liked Diana, and he would hate for her to get hurt over this.

And then, if he did win, if he did become King…well, it wouldn’t last very long, would it? Damian knew Sataria was quickly destabilizing. The people had been restless for well over twenty years. A transition of power was going to be very messy and Damian knew that he would have to be very firm and have lots of allies in order to maintain his position long enough to dissolve the monarchy. He knew what the people would think when they saw him—whatever the refugees in Gotham thought of him, the people of Sataria were going to see a privileged little American bastard coming in to try and take over.

It was going to take a lot of work to win their trust at all, but winning their loyalty? Even if Damian had Tim’s charm and history, he doubted he could do it so well. Tim should be the one sitting here. Tim should be the one going home to triumphantly conquer.

But he couldn’t. And Damian…

Well. Tim wasn’t his favorite person in the world. They clashed too often, goaded each other, fought until Bruce or Clark separated them. The only thing that kept them together was being Satari. The only things they shared was a distant relative and a love for the people of Sataria.

Was it enough? Was sharing Tim’s love for them, his ideals about what should be done with the country, enough to convince them that Damian was worthy of the throne?

Damian took a deep breath. He needed to focus. None of this would matter if he couldn’t win the si’la roj. He needed to focus on that. Needed to go through the movement, the rhythm, the swordplay. Once he’d passed that, then he could worry about the people.

*

Diana gazed out the window in wonder as they approached the capitol. Twenty-two years. Twenty-two years since she’d seen her homeland, so long that she could hardly remember it.

And here it was, laid out in front of her. Mostly desert, but she could see the city of Arat, bright and tall and ornate. Even from above, something about it was stately and ancient, as though it had weathered every storm before and would continue to weather every storm for eternity. Diana felt tears prick at her eyes as she looked at it, her heart singing out— _ This is home. I am home. _

Lois took her hand. “Beautiful, isn’t it?” she asked.

“I’ve dreamed of this day,” Diana said. “Ever since I found out who I am…I’ve dreamed of coming home…seeing it again…” They passed over the palace and she was crying, knowing that she would soon re-enter it. Even if she was returning as a servant…she was home.

Damian was looking as well, his face a careful mask. Diana took his hand as well. “You feel it,” she said. “Don’t you?”

“Yes,” Damian said. “I feel it.” He looked at her and for a moment the mask fell away. “Welcome back.”

*

“All right,” Bruce said once they’d finished at customs and were waiting for taxis. “Journalists and Jason, you’re being stationed at the western hotel. Here are your credit cards. There’s a limit of about $100,000 on them. I don’t know what the exchange rate is right now, but you should be okay.”

“Got it,” Clark said. “Good luck, darlin’.” He pecked Bruce on the cheek and went to join the other three.

Jason spared a quick hug for Damian, much to his shock. “Do us proud, Dami,” he muttered, before he followed his wife to the taxi.

“The rest of you,” Bruce said. “We’re going to scatter throughout the rest of the hotels near the palace. I don’t want Ra's al Ghul to be able to murder all of us at once before the contest. Once Damian’s entered, I suspect we’ll be invited to stay in the palace itself. Once there, I need everyone to get into as many pockets as possible.” He pulled out his wallet and started passing out the rest of the cards. “Your limits are a little higher. If you manage to max these cards, I will be very impressed and slightly disappointed.”

“Relax, B,” Dick said. “I think you’ve put way too much thought into this.”

Bruce glared. “If I’m going to fund a revolution, you can bet that I’ve planned it out,” he said. “Now, Dick, Steph, stay together. I don’t want us to all be killed at once, but we’re keeping to a strict buddy system as long as we’re here. Diana, take Damian as close to the palace as you can before the entry tomorrow. Alfred, with me.” Bruce turned and hailed a taxi. Alfred shook his head and grabbed the luggage.

Damian rolled his eyes as the others all took off. “I think Father is enjoying himself.”

“Just a bit,” Diana said. “Now come on…if we hurry, we might be able to get some al-flin before bedtime.”

*

Damian tried not to stare too much as they rode through Arat, but he couldn’t help it. It was all so new, so different from Gotham. The windows were down due to the heat, and Damian could hear so many people, the Satarian sharp in his ears. Haggling, arguing, gossiping, fast music and the roar of desert wind. The scents of spices one simply couldn’t get in Gotham washed over him, the warm air carrying the smell of relik—real relik, not the pale imitation he’d had in Gotham—al-flin, veskil, and a million other things he hadn’t even tried yet. He looked at the people, his people, dressed in looser clothes than in Gotham, earth tones with small splashes of color, many of them with scarves around their faces and hair, others with simple masks to filter the dust. It was dirty, hot, overwhelming…and yet there was an energy to it that Gotham simply didn’t have. Underneath the dust and the heat, there was joy, and determination, and strength and hope.

Damian glanced at Diana, who was staring out the window with just as much wonder. Her grey suit was already dusty, flecks of dirt in her dark hair and covering her glasses, but she didn’t seem to mind. Her face was that of pure rapture and overwhelming joy, an expression Damian hadn’t seen since her wedding. She reached a hand out the window and laughed as she felt the dusty air whip across it.

“Et’na dami!” she called out the window to all the people. Many of them called back, their joy and energy seeping through the windows, deep into Damian’s heart, taking him over. He knew that this wasn’t how it all was. He knew that once he entered the palace, this would be gone. But out here, among his people, seeing the streets and the old cars and carts and horses and the food stands…

“Pull over,” Damian ordered, handing the driver a twenty dollar bill. The driver took it happily and pulled up. “We will walk the rest of the way,” he said to Diana.

“You sure?” she asked.

“We belong out there, among them,” he said.

She smiled and they got out of the taxi. Diana kept a hand on Damian’s arm as they walked through the street, their western clothes out of place amongst the people, but no one seemed to mind. They wandered through the market, looking at everything like they were children. People called greetings to them, and Diana always answered. Damian spotted a vendor with the al-flin she’d wanted and pulled her over, managing to complete the order in decent if accented Satarian. The vendor laughed and charged them double, but Damian didn’t care. It was beautiful out here, so warm and poor but so, so happy.

They sat down on a bench to eat and Damian had never felt more at peace.

*

Ra's smiled as the contestants came in. So few of them were worthy of being Crown Prince. This was going to be a simple competition between Dusan and Slade, with some other idiot hopefully having the good sense to stay out of the way. Ra's had already made it clear to the other forty-seven contestants that, while the rules meant one of them would be competing, they were to simply let the other two battle it out.

He stood up before the court and looked them over. The lords and ladies stood to the side, watching. Talia’s eyes kept darting towards the door, as though she was waiting for someone. But she couldn’t be. Ra's had received no word of another contestant—the lists were almost completely set.

“My friends,” Ra's said to the assembled men. “My brothers. This is an honorable occasion. I am glad to see so many of you eager to take on the awesome responsibility of ruling Sataria, and gratified that your loyalty has lasted so long. Assuch, the si’la roj will begin tomorrow night, with the rest of the ke’la manji following. I hope whoever the champions are will do Sataria proud. Now…”

Before he could continue, though, the doors to the throne room burst open. Ra's looked up to see a boy in the doorway, green eyes bright. The boy strode into the room, standing straight to try and make up for his small stature. His face was paler than many of the others in the room, and he wore American clothes and Ra's knew at once who he was. Nevertheless, he glared at the boy. “Who are you that you would dare interrupt this assembly?” he demanded.

The boy drew a sword and drove it into the ground at Ra's’s feet. “I am Damian al Ghul Wayne,” he declared in accented Satarian. “And I will enter the ke’la manji.”

The court burst into muttering and hissing. Talia’s eyes were shining. Ra's glared at Damian for a minute. “You’re late, Damian Wayne,” he said.

“So sorry,” Damian said. “The flight was delayed.” He glared right back at Ra's. “But I am eligible to compete, and I demand the right to do so.”

More muttering from the court. Ra's was tempted to kill the boy where he stood, but he knew he’d never get away with it. He finally nodded. “Very well, Damian Wayne. You will be entered into the list.”

Damian pulled his sword out of the floor and stepped back to join his fellow competitors. Ra's took a moment to regain his bearings before he continued to speak.

“As I was saying,” he said. “I hope the champions, whoever they may be, will do Sataria proud. The rules of the competition will be discussed further once the champions have been decided. Until then, I invite the contestants and their entourages to remain in the palace, where they will be attended to.” He gave a false smile. “Rest well, gentlemen…tomorrow will be long.” With that, Ra's turned and left the room.

*

Talia waited until her father was out of the room before she went over to Damian, moving as though in a dream. Fifteen years. Fifteen years since she had abandoned her baby and run back to Sataria.

And here he was, all grown up. She could see by the set of his shoulders and the clench of his jaw that he had grown into a proud, stubborn, righteous man like his father. Like Bruce.

She swallowed as she went toward him. He was too busy glaring after Ra's to notice her. She coughed softly. “Damian?”

He turned, his face confused for a moment before it cleared. “You must be Talia.” His voice was stiff. Distant. Like he didn’t know her and didn’t even want to.

She nodded. “I was hoping you’d come.”

“Well I have.” His face was closed-off. Handsome, but hard.

“…how’s Bruce?” she asked.

“Fine,” Damian said. “He is with me, actually…downstairs.”

“Oh.” She should have expected it. Of course Bruce wouldn’t let Damian come alone. “How many are with you? I can arrange accommodations.”

Damian hesitated, as if trying to count, then answered. “There are five others with me…Bruce, Grayson, Brown, and two servants.”

“Alfred?”

“Yes…the other is my personal assistant Diana Prince.”

Talia nodded. “I will arrange rooms for all of them for as long as you’re here…did the others not come?”

“Todd is with his wife in the city,” Damian said. “The rest remained in Gotham to look after Father’s businesses.”

“Pity,” Talia said. “I do miss Barbara...she was a good daughter.”

“You left.”

And there it was. There was Damian’s anger, his hurt.

“I’m sorry,” Talia said. “It was…complicated.”

“You have not written or called in fifteen years,” Damian said. “You abandoned me when I was too young to even remember you.”

“I know…oh, Damian, don’t you think I regret it?”

“Perhaps you do. That does not change it.”

She was quiet for a moment. “Did Bruce find someone else?” she asked.

“He is remarried,” Damian answered. “For the last six years.”

“Is she good for him?”

“He is very good for Bruce,” Damian said. “And for all of us.”

Ah. “Good,” Talia said. “But your stepfather isn’t here?”

“No,” Damian said. “He thought it might be awkward.”

“I see.” Talia shook herself. “Well…I will…arrange your stay. And…I hope you’ll have dinner with me sometime?”

Damian’s jaw clenched slightly. “Maybe,” he said. “If I am here long enough.”

Talia nodded and turned to leave, to see the housekeeper about rooms, and also so no one in court would see her cry.

*

Bruce steeled himself as the housekeeper took them to a guest suite. He knew that he was entering the lion’s den, that he would have to play nice with everyone here, but now that he was here…

Now that he was closer to Talia than he had been in fifteen years…

Part of him had never stopped loving her. He’d certainly never stopped hurting after she left. Damian was a wonderful son, but Bruce could always see the past in him.

He wondered, sometimes, if they ever could have made it work. If she would have been a good mother after longer than a year. If they could have been happy again, in spite of everything.

But he knew that was silly. He wanted to save people too badly—that was why he’d ended up with seven children. She could never open her heart that much. Could never care in the same ways he did.

And he knew her reasons for leaving him weren’t simple. He knew that she’d risked her entire life just by marrying him to begin with. So of course, the moment Ra's called her back, she came, not even hesitating to end the marriage, not even considering taking Damian with her. Why would she? Damian had no status here, no honor. He was probably better off in Gotham without her in his life.

And it wasn’t like Bruce was lonely. He had Clark. Clark, who was good in all the ways Talia wasn’t, who loved every child as much as Bruce did, unconditionally. Clark, who would never even dream of leaving them, no matter what was offered or threatened. Clark, who was strong, and steady, and always, always by Bruce’s side. Sure, they had disagreements, but in the end, they could present a united front to the kids. Talia had never been like that.

Yes. They were all much better off with her gone.

Which only made being in the same place as her again even harder.

Alfred coughed softly behind him. “Master Bruce, Princess Talia is at the door. I believe she wants to see you before the tournament tomorrow.”

Bruce sighed. That hadn’t taken long. “Tell her I’ll have tea with her tomorrow,” he said. “Someplace public.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Where’s Damian?”

“He and Ms. Prince-Lane are in the courtyard, practicing for tomorrow.”

“Fine. Tell him I want him up here before sundown.”

“Yes, sir.” Alfred turned and left.

Bruce took a deep breath. He could do this. He’d take Dick with him, and they’d all have a nice catch-up, and then they would try not to talk again for the next year at least. Yes. It would be fine.

*

Dick had no idea what he was expecting in Sataria.

He knew that it was dangerous, that the court was corrupt and awful, because that was what Tim had told him.

But while he could feel the undercurrent of danger throughout the palace as he and Bruce walked through it the next day, it was also beautiful. Stately, like Wayne manor, but more ancient. More imposing. There were tapestries and curtains all around, coloring every room and muting the light, giving an eerie, other-worldly feel to the place. The courtiers and servants they passed were dressed in tight clothes, ornate vests and waistcoats with high collars, dresses that clung to the form like water, jackets and scarves made of light silk and jeweled colors. Dick felt like he was a wrong character in the play in his American suit.

“We need to go shopping,” he said to Bruce. “Try to match the locals.”

Bruce hummed. He had been awfully quiet since they had arrived, only speaking to ask Dick to please come sit between him and Talia at tea. Dick didn’t blame him—he was a bit nervous about seeing his former stepmother again after so long.

They reached the door they’d been directed to. Bruce took a deep breath. “I don’t know if I can do this, Dick.”

“You need to,” Dick said. “I know it’s painful and it will be awkward as fuck, but…well, if we’re here for an entire year, you can’t avoid her. So we might as well meet with her now and move on.”

Bruce nodded and knocked on the door.

“Come in.”

Bruce took another breath and opened the door.

Talia was waiting for them in an airy parlor draped in warm tones, wearing red and gold and smiling too much for Dick’s comfort. “Bruce,” she said, rising from her seat. “It’s been too long.”

“Hello, Talia,” Bruce said. “You remember Dick, right?”

She turned to him, still smiling. “Dick,” she said, going to him and taking his arms. “Look at you…so tall and handsome!”

“Thank you, Talia,” Dick said.

“Please, sit!” she said. They settled around a small tea table and Talia poured out the tea. “So,” she said once the serving was done. “I hear you run Wayne Enterprises these days, Dick?”

“Yes,” Dick said. “Bruce felt it was time for me to step in. We’ve had a very successful quarter…our newest line of car engines has been doing very well.”

“Ah, the new ones that run on agricultural waste?”

“Yes,” Dick said. “You can thank my stepfather for that idea. Once we’d worked out the kinks, it was just a matter of time.”

“Yes…” Talia’s smile faltered. “Damian told me you were married,” she said to Bruce.

“Yes,” he said shortly.

Talia tsked, much the same way Damian always did. “Come on, Bruce…I want to hear more than that! What’s his name? What does he do?”

Bruce sighed. “His name is Clark,” he said. “He’s a journalist…mostly agricultural beats, but he does other things as well.”

“Agriculture?” Talia repeated. “How interesting…how did he get that section?”

“He used to be a farmer,” Bruce said. “And a very good one…he can grow twenty acres of wheat single-handed.”

“Wonderful,” Talia said. “Engineering type?”

“He can be,” Dick said. “He has many skills. We’re all very happy to have him.” He sipped his tea, giving Talia a pointed look.

“Oh, I’m so glad,” she said. “I didn’t want you to be alone, Bruce…not with all those children who needed another parent.”

“Alfred served as their other parent,” Bruce said.

“And a damn good one,” Dick added.

“Well, yes,” Talia said. “But being raised by servants isn’t the same thing…and I would know.”

“Yes, I suppose you would,” Bruce said.

Talia sipped at her tea for a moment. “And Damian?” she asked. “We only spoke for a few minutes yesterday…I asked him to have dinner, but he didn’t seem very eager.”

“I suspect not,” Bruce muttered.

Dick gave him a glare. “Damian is a fine young man,” Dick said. “We’re all very proud of him.”

“Yes, yes, I’m sure,” Talia said impatiently. “But what’s he like? What are his hobbies, what does he enjoy?”

There was a moment of silence before Bruce answered. “He likes animals,” he said. “And he likes knives and swords. He enjoys si’la roj when he’s not being forced to practice every day, and he’s very interested in law and politics. As to his hobbies, he reads a lot, and enjoys fighting with his siblings a bit more than I’d like.” Bruce paused. “Beyond that, I don’t know what else I can say. He’s very quiet…likes his alone time. Angry, a bit rebellious, but good-hearted and highly intelligent. And Dick is right—we are all very proud of him.”

Talia smiled, and it looked…genuine. Almost kind. “That’s good to hear,” she said. “I wish…well…I hope I can get to know him better.”

Bruce was glaring. “Talia…”

“Bruce, you know why. You know I couldn’t have stayed in Gotham. If I hadn’t obeyed the summons…”

“You could have contacted him. Just a letter…a phone call. Anything.”

“My father monitors all communications in and out of the palace.”

“You could have found a way. I know you, Talia…you’re sneakier than he thinks.”

“Hence how we managed to elope.”

“Exactly. If you’d wanted to, you could have said something to him. Anything. Just a letter saying you loved him would have been enough.”

Dick closed his eyes. They were on a roll, and he knew he wouldn’t be able to interrupt them any time soon.

*

Steph wandered through the palace, keeping her head down. It had been easy that morning to find a servant girl willing to sell her a dress and veil, and now she was able to move about unhindered and unnoticed, exploring the castle and listening to the gossip.

She learned quite a lot in only a few hours and smiled as she returned to the suite. Damian was waiting for her. “Well?” he asked.

“I got the full story,” she said, removing her veil to let her blond hair shine again. “Ra's al Ghul wants his second cousin, Slade Wilson, to win, but his nephew, Dusan, challenged the decision. He called a ke’la manji, and both are very determined to win it. Everyone else has been bribed or threatened to throw the contest…except you.”

Damian nodded. “So tonight, they will all yield to one of those two.”

“Except for you,” Steph said. “From what I heard, Dusan is as skilled a dancer as any, and I have no doubt Ra's has been training Wilson personally.”

“What else can you tell me about them?”

“Wilson is a mercenary…born in America, a few tours in Iraq before he turned on them and fled to Sataria. Ra's likes him—he’s tough, and cruel, and will do whatever Ra's would do. Rumor has it he’s the one who put the scars on Tim’s back, but you’d have to ask him to confirm that.”

“And Dusan?”

“A warrior in his own right. Ruthless, angry…loyal to Ra's until he was passed over in favor of Wilson. He’s in this to win—and he won’t let anyone get in his way.”

Damian nodded. “Thank you, Brown,” he said.

She grinned. “Don’t worry, Damian,” she said. “We know you’ve got something they don’t.”

“What is that?”

“You’re a good man,” she said simply, and went into her own room.

*

Damian breathed deeply. The tournament was going to begin in just a few minutes, and he needed to hide that he was completely terrified.

Diana was standing by him, the loyal valet holding his sword. He glanced at her, only his eyes visible. His nose and mouth were covered by his mask, his feet feeling heavy in the shoes of a dancer. “Do you really believe in me?” Damian whispered as they entered the hall and took their place in the circle around the dance arena.

“You know I do,” she whispered back. “I trained you, and I am the best si’la roj dancer in Gotham. You will win this. I know you will.”

Damian nodded. Ra's al Ghul stepped onto the dais where the thrones were and held up his hand for silence.

“Friends, brothers,” he called. “Tonight, we mark the start of another year. And tonight, we come together to see which of my brothers is worthy of being my heir. The contest does not end here—it merely begins. Tonight, you dance the si’la roj, so that you might remember the battles you will fight in the coming year. You will all dance, and the three who bring down the most will move on to the next part of the ke’la manji.”

There was a roar of approval from the court. Damian could feel the energy in the room building. He breathed in deeply, trying to absorb it. He glanced at Bruce, standing with Dick and Steph on either side, and half-smiled even though they couldn’t see it past his mask.

“The lists have been made,” Ra's continued. “Damian Wayne, step forward. J’mal al Ghul, step forward.”

Damian took his sword from Diana and stepped to the center of the ring. Another young man, maybe a year or two older than him, stepped forward as well. They raised their swords.

“Si’la!” Damian called.

“Roj et ni!” J’mal called back. Ra's signaled a group of musicians nearby and the dance began.

It was faster than Damian usually did back in Gotham, and his opponent was clearly skilled. They moved around the circle, swords and hands clashing. Damian’s blood was already starting to roar in his ears, adrenaline and the energy of the room spurring him on. His opponent was good, but not as good as Diana, or even Tim, so it took only ten minutes for Damian to knock him down.

The next man leaped in, older, slightly stronger, and Damian had to turn very fast to keep his feet. But keep his feet he did, the dance and fight matching for several minutes before the second man was down.

Three. Four. Almost an hour of this and Damian was still on his feet, still had his sword in hand, still going. He didn’t seem to be flagging at all, wasn’t tired, wasn’t even close to being finished, the adrenaline keeping him from feeling the effects of dancing so long. His fifth opponent lunged, quick, heavy, and Damian almost laughed. It was just like fighting against Jason. A dodge, a twirl, a hit, and he was down. The sixth leapt in, graceful, catlike, and it was just Cass, just another day in the garden. Ten minutes and he was down, and Damian spun, not breaking the rhythm as the seventh came towards him.

After two and a half hours, Damian was still standing, fifteen opponents eliminated. He was sweating, his hands and feet screaming from the blisters that had formed throughout the night, but he wasn’t finished. Nowhere close. He turned to face the next one.

Slade Wilson, one of the two that Damian had made sure to know by sight. He raised his sword as the challenge was called and it began.

Wilson was good. He’d clearly been training as hard as Steph had said, and had the advantage of being fresh. Damian wasn’t tired, exactly, but he had been going for hours.

Twist. Block. Hit. Spin. Turn his opponent, let himself be turned. Kick, turn, swing, parry.

Ten minutes. Twenty minutes. Thirty. Damian was starting to lose energy, but he pressed on. He would not yield. Not to his grandfather’s favored. He would dance until he dropped, until his feet bled, until he couldn’t hold a sword. He would. Not. Yield.

Leap. Spin. Block. Thrust. Forward, back, around. The rhythm pounded in his head, painful and fast and Damian could feel his vision fading.

It was another forty-five minutes before Damian could no longer stand and fell to his knees. He could hear shouting, whispers, but it was all distant. His vision was spotty, his head pounding, every inch of his body screaming in pain and exhaustion. He was only distantly aware of soft hands helping him up and guiding him off the floor.

“Dami?” Diana’s voice was soft. He groaned.

She guided him to a chair and sat him down. His eyes were closed, but he felt her remove his mask, and then a cool glass against his lips and water flowing into his mouth, down his throat. He swallowed instinctively, breathing hard.

“You did well.” That was Bruce, on his other side. “Your mother is fetching the medic to see to your hands and feet. Just rest now.”

Damian nodded, barely conscious. Bruce and Diana were quiet, and he was grateful for that.

He didn’t remember the doctor tending to him, only that he was bandaged when he finally came to. The music was coming to a stop as Damian blinked.

“What happened?” he asked. “Who won?”

“A moment,” Diana said. “Can you stand?”

Damian grit his teeth and clutched her shoulder for support. Bruce hovered on his other side, ready to lend a hand. Talia was standing nearby, watching him in worry.

Damian let Diana half-carry him back to the circle. Ra's al Ghul had stood up again.

“My brothers,” he said. “You have all fought well. But only three among you may progress. The three are: our cousin, Slade Wilson; our nephew, Dusan al Ghul; and…” Ra's’s face was sour. “Our grandson, Damian Wayne.”

Damian blinked, shocked. “Did I…?”

“Fifteen,” Diana whispered, smiling. “Wilson did the same, and Dusan managed to take eighteen…but most of their opponents yielded. Damian…I don’t know if you could dance against Dusan, even at your freshest, but you’re certainly one of the best.”

Damian nodded. He let go of Diana and stepped forward, forcing himself to stay steady. He took his place next to Wilson and Dusan, meeting his grandfather’s eye proudly.

Ra's looked at them, giving Damian a bit of a glare. “Congratulations,” he said. “Rest tonight; tomorrow, the first quest will be assigned.” With that, he turned and strode out of the hall.

Wilson and Dusan both turned to Damian at once. Damian did his best to meet their eyes.

“You fool!” Dusan hissed as the court started moving out. “Why did you fight us? Who are you to fight for the throne?”

“I am the grandson of Ra's al Ghul,” Damian said coolly. “I have as much right to fight for my crown as you, cousin.”

“I ought to cut you down right here!” Wilson said. “This competition is between Dusan and me, not us and Talia’s bastard!” Wilson drew his sword.

Before he could move, though, another sword was at his throat.

“Don’t you dare,” Diana said. “You may have beaten him in si’la roj, but he is still a champion. You will not touch him before the tasks begin.”

Wilson glared. “And who are you?”

Diana smirked. “I’m just Mr. Wayne’s PA,” she said. “But I suggest you keep a civil tongue, Mr. Wilson…my blade can slip very easily.”

They stood there for a long minute before Wilson sheathed his sword. Only then did Diana lower hers. “I suggest you all go to bed, as His Majesty ordered,” she said. “Mr. Wayne, I’ve ordered a bath for you, and food.”

Damian nodded. “Thank you, Ms. Prince.” He turned and stumbled out of the hall, his heart pounding.

He had done it. He would complete the ke’la manji. Even as his body cried out, Damian couldn’t help but smile. Even if he didn’t win, Wilson’s threat had made it clear—someone here took him seriously.


	4. Chapter 4

Tim felt ridiculous.

Sure, he had worn dresses before for various reasons, but this was a bit excessive. The black fabric was heavy, and while the veil hiding most of his face kept the dust out, it still made it harder to breathe.

He glanced at Cass, who was dressed in similar fashion. Her black eyes were tired, her hands dirty.

They had been riding for days, the gait of the camels unfamiliar and uncomfortable. But this was the most discreet way to enter Sataria, and Conner had gone to all the trouble of making it happen.

Tim looked to Conner, who mostly looked amused past his scarf. Tim hoped that the blue eyes wouldn’t give them away.

“What’s your plan at the border?” Tim muttered.

“I have papers,” Conner said. “There are always caravans going in and out of the city. We’re going to join up with one of the larger ones—you know the guards never look too closely at the people in those.”

“Great,” Tim said. “So what’s our story?”

“I am Karl el-Fadil, a poor Muslim merchant from Iraq, hoping to trade in Sataria for a better life,” Conner said. “You are my wife Alanna, and Cass is your sister Catia…almost the truth anyway.”

Tim rolled her eyes. “I told you once before, being your wife doesn’t suit me.”

“You told me that when Ra's was trying to force it on you,” Conner said. “Right now, I’m more interested in getting you into the city than trying to hash out our relationship.”

“You just like having me be your wife.”

“Maybe I do, Alanna,” Conner said. “Now hush. We’re getting close.”

Tim glared more but kept his mouth shut as they joined a caravan, camels and horses all teeming together. Tim and Cass made sure to stay close to Conner as they approached the border to Sataria.

To Tim’s surprised, the guards seemed to be actually scrutinizing the papers of everyone riding in. Tim lowered his head—the veil hid most of his face, but he knew that he was well-known throughout Sataria and there was a chance his eyes alone would give away the game.

They reached the guard and Tim kept his eyes on the ground, going for shy and modest. The guard took the papers from Conner’s hand and studied them carefully.

“State your business,” the guard said in Satarian.

“Please,” Conner said, his words perfect but his accent atrocious. At least he seemed to be trying to affect a different accent than American. “I am but a poor merchant, and I had heard that Arat is the best place to start again.”

The guard looked at Conner closely. “And the others with you?”

“My wife, Alanna, and her sister Catia,” Conner said. “We expect a child come the fall…we need a new place, a place where honest men can make a living.”

Tim made a mental note to kick Conner as soon as they were out of danger.

The guard studied them for another moment before he handed the papers back and waved them through. Tim kept his head down and followed Conner, Cass at his side. Tim dared look at her and even under the veil, he could tell his sister was laughing.

Tim waited until they were over the next rise before he moved to Conner’s side. “I hate you so much,” he hissed.

“It worked, didn’t it?” Conner muttered back.

“That was a stupid lie and your accent was racist.”

“Yeah, well,” Conner said. “Maybe you’ll forgive me now.” They got to the top of a hill and Conner pointed down to the city of Arat.

Tim’s breath caught in his throat. Nine years. Nine years of exile, and anger, and longing…and there it was. His city. His home. He could see the spires of the palace rising above it, see the lights shining from every house. He could already catch the slight whiff of the place, already hear the faint noise of traffic and the people. He closed his eyes, tears already starting to fall.

Cass rode up next to them and took his hand. “Welcome home, Your Highness.”

*

Tim tried to keep his head down as they rode into Arat, but he couldn’t help but look around. Even after so long, it was still all so familiar. The old shopfronts with their mismatched wares, the loose earth-toned clothing with splashes of color, the mix of modern and outdated technology smashed against each other, the remnants of a dozen empires melding into one culture. The heat was no longer oppressive, the dust no longer cloying. It could never be too much. This was home.

He smiled at his people even though they couldn’t see it past his veil. He wanted to take it off and greet them properly, wanted to be among them again as the prince who loved them, wanted to assure them he was still on their side, that he was still fighting for them, that they still had hope of freedom. But that would have to wait. He had a more important task at hand.

Conner guided them through the streets, through the market with its worn-down stalls, down to the slums of the city and to a small and shabby inn. He helped Tim and Cass down from their camels and they unloaded the merchandise before going inside. Conner said a few words to the innkeeper, and a few minutes later they were up in a tiny room with two beds pressed close together.

“Wait here,” Conner said. He left the room, making sure the door was closed behind him.

Tim shuttered the window and he and Cass removed their veils. “Well,” Tim said. “That was exhausting.”

“Worth it, though,” Cass said. “So what now?”

“We wait,” Tim said. He pulled off the dress, sighing a bit. His tanktop and leggings were a lot more comfortable, though it was still extremely hot. H sat down on one of the beds and pulled a book out of their luggage. Cass settled on the other bed and did the same.

Almost half an hour later, the sound of voices caught Tim’s attention. He sat up—he knew those voices. One was Conner, still doing his atrocious accent, and the other…

“I still don’t see why I needed to come here,” Lonnie Machin was saying. “Whatever you want to sell me could be shown in my home.”

“Ah, but it cannot!” Conner said. “You must see it here!”

Lonnie sighed. “I don’t think I want to buy anything from you,” he said. “You’re so pushy…”

Tim smiled as the door opened. “Trust me, Lon,” he said. “You want to buy this.”

Lon stared for a long moment before he stepped forward. “Prince Timothy?” he gasped. “Lady Cassandra?

“Hello, Lonnie,” Tim said.

“What are you doing here?” Lonnie hissed as Conner closed and locked the door. “If your granduncle finds out--!”

“If Ra's finds out, we’ll all die,” Tim said. “I knew that when I decided to come back. But I had to, Lonnie.”

“Why?” Lonnie asked.

“The ke’la manji,” Tim said. “Don’t tell me you didn’t realize it’s the perfect opportunity to overthrow the crown.”

“It occurred to me,” Lonnie said. “But we didn’t have anyone to lead us…and the champions haven’t been presented to the people yet, so I don’t know if there’s anyone for them to rally around.”

“Lucky for you, my sister was at the si’la roj,” Tim said. “And we have a champion for the people.”

“…Diyanah? She’s alive?!”

“Alive and in court,” Tim said. “As a servant…though Ra's probably recognized her. But he can’t exactly call her out without admitting he lied about her death.”

Lonnie sat down on the only chair in the room, looking shocked and overwhelmed. “A day of miracles indeed,” he said. “That the children of Hippolyta should both return to us.” He shook himself slightly. “And who is our champion?”

“Damian Wayne,” Tim said. “The son of Bruce Wayne and Talia al Ghul.”

“Talia’s heklin? He’s who you would support?”

“I’ve known him since he was seven,” Tim said. “We grew up as brothers and while we don’t always agree on everything…”

“He means they never do,” Cass interjected.

Tim sighed. “Well…we can agree on this. We both want freedom for Sataria. He shares my love for all of you, and he has my full support.”

“Will he do what we want?”

“Yes,” Tim said firmly. “Damian…he’s stubborn. Reckless, but good-hearted. There may be some in court who think that manipulating a sixteen-year-old boy to their own ends will be easy, but Damian cannot be corrupted. He wouldn’t be here if he didn’t believe in our cause.”

“But the ke’la manji is dangerous…I’m assuming Dusan and Slade are the other champions?”

“They are,” Tim said. “But Diyanah is the best warrior I have ever met. She’ll make sure Damian survives. And we will make sure he wins.”

Lonnie nodded. “What do you need me to do?”

“Gather our remaining friends in the city…those we can trust to hold their tongues. One slip and we’re all done for…Ra's won’t hesitate to execute us again. After that, I need you all to start rallying the people to Damian’s side. Tell them what they need to hear—that he is my brother and he is on our side. I will need to know everything going on in the city—I assume you still have a network?”

“It can be reactivated at any time.”

“Do it. I want eyes and ears everywhere. I have people in the palace, so don’t worry about that. And I’m going to need someone discreet to run errands for me—the less we leave this room, the better.”

“Got it.” Lonnie grinned. “I’d better get started…do you want me to contact Damian?”

“Not yet…he’ll send a message when he wants to meet with us. For now, just get our people organized.”

“Yes, Your Highness.” Lonnie surged forward and embraced Tim. “It’s a risk,” he said. “One I wish you wouldn’t take…but I’m really glad you’re back.”

Tim hugged him back. “Honestly…it’s good to be back.”

*

The square was crowded, loud, and very hot. Lois groaned as she set up her cameras. Her press pass meant she was at the front, but it was still a lot more noise and activity than she’d normally like.

She glanced at Clark next to her. He seemed fairly unruffled by all this, his time as a farmer giving him the advantage in the heat. On his other side, Kara also looked completely composed. Jason was next to Kara, ostensibly as her cameraman but Lois knew he was really ready to fight anyone who looked at her wrong.

Lois turned back toward the palace balcony. Any minute now, Ra's al Ghul would step out and present the champions to the people. Diana had already texted her to let her know, of course, but she needed the official announcement for the news.

The doors opened and a hush fell over the crowd. Lois leaned forward, adjusting her camera.

A man stepped out, clearly the King. He was clearly growing old, but he was still powerfully built and his age didn’t seem to have flagged any of his energy. As he stepped out, a cry went up from the crowd. Lois couldn’t tell if it was angry or joyful—probably a bit of both.

Ra's held up his hand and the shouting died out. “My people,” he said, the microphones recording it all for the translators back in Gotham. Lois could understand Satarian fairly well, and she hoped she wouldn’t miss anything. “Today, the ke’la manji begins to decide who shall lead you when I am gone.”

More shouting from the crowd. Lois distinctly heard most of the people crying out, “GIVE US PRINCE YUREM! GIVE US OUR PRINCE!”

Ra's waited a moment before he again signaled for silence. The people fell quiet, but Lois could definitely feel the anger rolling off them now. She shuffled closer to Clark—if a riot broke out, she’d need a heavy hitter next to her.

“The champions were chosen last night, after they proved their worth in si’la roj,” Ra's said. “And I am pleased to present them to you now. Our cousin, Slade Wilson…”

A large man stepped out, a cruel smirk on his face. There was a roar, the people shouting invectives, hissing and protesting.

Ra's plowed on. “Our nephew, Dusan al Ghul…”

An albino stepped forward and joined Wilson. His face was completely blank, but Lois could see he wasn’t much better-liked than the other by the amount of shouting going on behind her. “GIVE US PRINCE YUREM! GIVE US OUR CHAMPION!”

“…and our grandson, Damian Wayne!”

Damian stepped out, small next to the other two. He was wearing the press conference smile that Lois had coached into him herself. But the spark in his eyes was still kind. The smile he gave the people was hopeful, defiant, and very much the same one Tim would give them.

They must have noticed, because the shouting died out to be replaced by whispers. Lois couldn’t quite catch what was being said, but she knew they were all wondering—who was Damian? If he was Ra's’s grandson, why was there even a question? And why did the boy stand and smile like Timothy Drake?

“The ke’la manji begins on the morrow,” Ra's continued. “When the champions will go out into Sataria. They must remain in its borders throughout the contest. Each will use his own resources to complete the quest. Each may have only one servant with him to assist. Members of the press, you may follow the champions to report on their actions, but you may not interfere. At the end of the third month, each champion must return with what I have asked for, to be judged by the people.”

There was a general murmur of agreement.

“Slade Wilson, do you accept the terms?”

“I do,” Wilson said.

“Dusan al Ghul, do you accept the terms?”

“I do.”

“Damian Wayne, do you accept the terms?”

“I do.”

“Then your quest is this: Bring me the rarest jewel.” Ra's nodded. “You begin at sunrise.” With that, he turned and went back into the castle. Dusan and Slade followed, but Damian remained. He stepped forward on the balcony. He did not speak, but he looked over the people, as though trying to meet the eye of every one of them. After a long minute, he raised his hand in greeting. No one moved for a long moment. Damian nodded to them and stepped back inside.

*

“Nah, he was great,” Clark said into the phone. “He stood like Tim…if he were a little shorter, I’d think he was Tim.”

“Good,” Bruce said on the other end. “That will at least give him a foothold.” The sigh was audible through the phone. “I don’t know, Clark…I’m still nervous about sending him out into the wider country on his own.”

“Diana’ll be with him,” Clark said. “And he needs t’do this, Bruce. He’s gotta win them over on his own terms.”

“I know that,” Bruce said. “But I don’t feel right about staying in the palace while he’s out there.”

“I think yer in more danger than he is,” Clark said. “He’s got Diana and he’s gonna be out amongst the people who might at least try and protect him. Yer in court, surrounded by vipers, on yer own.”

“I have Alfred,” Bruce said.

“Diana is a highly-trained warrior. Alfred…”

“Was also a soldier…and a damn good one. He’s watched my back for thirty years and done it well.” Bruce paused. “I’m also worried about you.”

“Why?”

“You’re going to be following Dusan, aren’t you?”

“Yeah, so?”

“You’re definitely going by yourself…you won’t have Diana or Alfred or…anyone with you.”

“I’m a reporter, Bruce, not a threat. I don’t think he’ll be any trouble fer me, especially since there will be a bunch of Satari reporters with us too.”

“Unless you annoy him.”

“When’ve I ever been annoyin’?”

Bruce sighed again. “Just…be careful. Don’t make it obvious who you are. And for all that’s holy, find an excuse to stay out of the palace as much as possible…last thing I need is for you and Talia to start being catty.”

“Yes, dear.”

“Love you.”

“Love you, too.” Clark hung up the phone and sighed.

Lois came out of the bathroom drying her hair. “All good?”

“He’s bein’ a worrywart,” Clark said. “Not that I blame him, but I can take care’a myself…and y’all can take care’a Damian.”

“You are going with the most dangerous of them,” Lois pointed out. “Alone.”

“Yeah, but Dusan cain’t actually do anythin’ t’me. I mean…parta the point’a this is to ingratiate themselves t’the people and I don’t think attackin’ an innocent journalist would look very good.”

“I’m not sure,” Lois said. “The impression I got yesterday is that Damian’s the only one who really cares about pleasing the people. The other two seem more focused on pleasing the King.”

Clark frowned in thought. “What’d’y’think falls under the category’a interferin’?”

Lois shrugged. “I mean…not giving advice on what the rarest jewel is or fetching it for them? Basically, anything other than following them around and asking the occasional question. Simple political campaign stuff, really.”

“Y’know I ain’t ever covered a campaign. I’m an agriculture writer.”

“Well…maybe Dusan has ideas about the agriculture in Sataria,” Lois said. “They do have a robust farming community.”

Clark laughed. “Y’think that guy has any ideas ‘bout farmin’? He wouldn’t know topsoil from manure!”

“Well,” Lois said. “Maybe you can teach him.”

Clark only laughed harder.

*

Damian woke well before sunrise. His bag was already packed, and most of the soreness from the si’la roj had passed, but he was still apprehensive.

The rarest jewel in Sataria…that could mean anything, really. Damian had done a little research the night before and found that, with enough money, almost any type of jewel was available in Arat if he knew where to look.

Then again, the jewel itself didn’t really matter, did it? The people did. And today, Damian was going to meet them personally for the first time.

There was a knock on the door. “Come in,” Damian called.

Alfred entered, carrying a breakfast tray. “Good morning, Master Damian,” he said. “Breakfast before you start. Ms. Prince-Lane will join you in an hour.”

“Thank you, Alfred,” Damian said. “You arranged the transportation I asked for?”

“Yes, sir. It’s waiting in the front courtyard.”

“Good…and Lane?”

“She will meet you outside when you start, when Master Clark and Ms. Kara meet with the other two. I suspect they will all wish to conduct interviews before your journey starts.”

“Will there be Satari journalists as well?”

“I believe so.” Alfred looked apologetic. “Though I do not know if His Majesty will air any interviews done with you on Satari television.”

“It does not matter,” Damian said. “If I have their names, I can arrange to get the tapes.”

Alfred half-smiled. “Of course, sir,” he said.

“Dismissed.”

Alfred nodded and left the room. Damian ate his breakfast quickly before he rose and dressed in clothing he’d sent Diana to buy the day before. If he was going to integrate with the Satari people, it wouldn’t do to continue dressing as an American.

An hour later, Damian went down to the front courtyard. Dusan and Wilson were already talking to a crowd of reporters, who clearly hadn’t waited for Damian. It seemed Alfred was right—Damian wasn’t going to get much press coverage for this competition.

Lois and Diana were nearby. Lois had everything set up and smiled at Damian as he walked over to them. She turned to her camera and began to speak in very accented but clearly practiced Satarian. “I am outside the royal palace in Arat on the first day of the ke’la manji,” she said. “And with me is the youngest champion, Damian Wayne of Gotham city.” She turned to him. “Damian, et’na dami.”

“Et’na dami, Ms. Lane.”

“You are about to start on the quest to win the throne. How do you feel? Excited? Nervous?”

Damian gave the camera a smile that was all Tim. Kind, hopeful, but dangerous. “I only wish to serve the people of Sataria,” he said. “Even in Gotham, I have heard their woes and I have put myself forward to attempt to correct them.”

“Gotham has a large population of Satari refugees. Do you have a plan for them?”

“I do,” Damian said. All Tim again. His brothers plan, his brother’s goals, but Damian believed in them. He knew that Tim was a far better leader than he was—but right now, he had to be the mouthpiece. “I spent many days with the refugees in Gotham, and I have heard their complaints. I would like to resolve their problems and bring those who wish it back home. And I find it shameful that so many talented and beautiful people were driven from their country.”

“You have only been in Sataria for a few days. What makes you think you are the correct choice to lead a country you barely know?”

Damian gave another of Tim’s smiles, though it was a bit sharper this time. He knew that Lois was a reporter first and a relative second, but that didn’t make her hard questions any easier to answer. “As I said, I have heard of the people’s complaints,” he said. “Or at least, the ones that reached us in Gotham. I know that I am ill-prepared to lead this country as I am now. I hope that, over the next year, I can get to know it better. I want to meet my people. I want to hear what they need, and learn about my country. I will speak to everyone who wishes to speak with me, and hear their problems. Once I have learned more of this land, I hope I will be prepared to lead it, and I hope that the people can find it in their hearts to trust me with their lives and happiness.”

Lois smiled back. “Thank you, Damian.”

“Thank you, Ms. Lane.” Damian turned and went to Diana. He nodded and they headed towards the palace drive.

Damian grinned at seeing the motorcycles Alfred had secured for them. Everything always felt better when he had one. Diana only shook her head and she picked up her helmet.

“I still think a car would be better,” she said.

“We are cut off in a car,” Damian said. “And we cannot take taxis out of Arat. I have a feeling our quests will send us much further.”

“True,” Diana said. “But you said you wished to complete the first one in the city.”

“The city is where the voting takes place,” Damian said. “They are the people I must impress the most.” With that, he started his bike and was off, Diana following in his wake.

*

Diana did her best to keep up with Damian through the day, always a few steps behind him, depending on her headscarf and glasses to keep anyone from looking at her twice. She had no doubt in her mind that someone had recognized her in the palace, but she was better off being anonymous in the city.

They stopped often, at various shops and stalls throughout the city. Damian spoke with many people, but he didn’t ask about jewels or the quest. In fact, Damian didn’t actually say much at all. Every time they stopped, Damian greeted someone and asked the same question—“What do you want from your King?”

The answers varied. Better infrastructure. Modern appliances at lower prices. More good food readily available. Stable jobs. Internet, reliable phone service. Free press. A ban on child marriages. Harsher penalties for domestic abusers. A police system that was just instead of one that favored the wealthy. Universal healthcare with good doctors. Education of all levels for all.

But as different as the answers were, Diana could hear the common thread in them.  _ We want to be happy. We want to be safe. We want to be free. _

As the sun was setting, they had reached a very poor and shabby part of the city. Damian glanced around. The streets were quite dark, and the people here were less friendly. More closed-off. Less willing to speak with Damian.

“Excuse me,” he called to one of them. “Is there an inn nearby?”

The woman looked at them with tired eyes. “End of the street,” she answered. “Cheap. But you sure you want to stay here?”

“We will be fine,” Damian said. He rode to the end of the street, where a very run-down inn stood. Even out here, Diana could hear shouting and laughter inside.

Lois caught up with them, having spent most of the day following by taxi. “We’re staying here?” she asked, disgust clear in her voice.

Damian shrugged. “We are here to meet the people. Meeting them here will give me a better idea of the reforms needed than staying near the palace.” With that, he turned and stepped into the inn.

Diana followed. Lois tsked and hurried after them. Damian was already speaking to the innkeeper, standing straight and proud even though he barely reached the man’s chest. The innkeeper mostly looked amused.

“Of course, sir,” the innkeeper was saying as Diana joined him. “Two rooms is no trouble. And will you be ordering dinner?”

“We will eat in the common room,” Damian said. “I am here to meet people, not to isolate myself.”

“Of course,” the innkeeper said. “It is served at seven.” His eyes darted to Lois and Diana. “I take it the young ladies will be staying in the second room?”

“They will,” Damian said. “And if anyone touches them, they are in for a world of pain.”

“I understand,” the innkeeper said. “Such beauties must be kept safe.”

Diana felt her eyes narrow but let the comment pass. Damian paid the innkeeper and they were taken upstairs to two small rooms.

“I apologize for only one bed,” the innkeeper said. “But space is limited.”

“We’ll manage,” Lois said, barely keeping the laughter from her voice.

The innkeeper bowed and left them.

“Prince,” Damian said in English as soon as he was sure they were alone. “Make contact with Drake. Tell him I will want to meet with him or his representative first thing tomorrow.”

“Yes, Mr. Wayne,” Diana said with a smirk. She pulled out her phone and sent off a coded message. “Until then?”

“We will rest until dinner,” Damian said. “And then we will go down and be friendly with the locals.”

“What’s on the menu?” Lois asked.

“I don’t know,” Diana said. “But I’m sure it will be fine.”

*

They went down to the common room at seven. Damian found a table in the center of the room and sat down, Diana and Lois on either side. A number of other people filtered in, tired and dirty and poor. They seemed surprised to see Damian sitting there among them, and few ventured toward them.

Damian didn’t mind. He simply smiled at them as a young man, about Damian’s own age, walked around the room carrying the trays and delivering bowls and plates. He reached the center table and smiled, revealing gapped teeth and shining blue eyes.

“Et’na dami,” the young man said. “Relik stew, and our finest brew.” He set the bowls and mugs in front of them, ignoring Lois’s pained look.

“Thank you,” Damian said, slipping a coin over to the boy. The serving boy smiled again and accepted it.

Lois picked at the stew as Damian and Diana started eating with gusto. Damian didn’t understand it—it was better than the relik they could get in Gotham. Fresher ingredients, even if they were lower quality, and the proper seasoning in the broth. It was a taste of home, slightly bitter but with an underlying sweetness. Damian didn’t think he’d ever tasted anything better.

They were hardly into the meal when there was a crash from the other side of the room. Damian turned to see the serving boy starting to pick himself up, having obviously tripped over something.

“Fool!” the innkeeper shouted, darting over. “Clumsy, clumsy fool! All those plates and food…do you know what it’s worth?!”

The serving boy’s head was down and Damian just knew he was muttering an apology.

“Heklin brat! I should have left you on the street!” The innkeeper already had a belt in hand and raised to strike the boy.

Before Damian could even react, Diana had leaped over the table and dashed across the room. She caught the innkeepers wrist before he could strike and forced him to turn around. “Leave him,” she growled.

“And who are you to tell me how to run my inn?” the innkeeper demanded.

Diana’s eyes flashed and Damian knew the only thing keeping her sword sheathed was the fact that Damian needed the people’s support; having his PA murder a landlord in his own inn probably wasn’t the best publicity. “The boy is not at fault,” she said. “And if you raise a hand to him in my presence again, my master will leave this inn and find accommodations elsewhere.”

The innkeeper’s eyes darted over to Damian, who nodded. That seemed to make the innkeeper pause and reconsider—he knew Damian was a champion in the ke’la manji, and connected to royalty. Damian had already paid for a week in advance, American cash, which seemed to have as much value as coins in Arat. Slowly, the innkeeper’s arm lowered. “I apologize, Miss,” he said. “My temper got the best of me.” He turned and glared at the boy. “Clean this up,” he ordered, before he stalked out of the room.

The room had fallen silent, but the mutters broke out almost immediately. Damian ignored them and stood up, heading towards the middle of the room. Diana was kneeling next to the serving boy, speaking to him quietly. She glanced up as Damian approached and rose.

Damian passed her a number of bills. “Give this to the innkeeper,” he muttered. “To pay for the dishes and food.” She scowled but turned to go after him.

The serving boy was still on the ground, listlessly gathering the pieces of broken pottery. Damian knelt down to help. “Are you all right?” he asked.

“I’m fine,” the boy said. “I’m sorry for disturbing your dinner.”

“It is all right,” Damian said.

The boy watched suspiciously as Damian gathered the shards into a neat pile. “My master said you’re a prince.”

“Not really,” Damian said. “At least…not yet.”

“But your grandfather is the King.”

“I am heklin,” Damian said. “And I can only earn my place through the ke’la manji.”

The boy’s eyes lowered. “I am heklin as well,” he said. “But I have no place to earn.”

“Your parents?”

“My mother is dead. I never knew my father…I only share his name.”

Damian half-smiled. “What is it?”

“Jon,” the serving boy said. “He was an American.”

“My father is American,” Damian said, perhaps a bit too eager. “And he named me Damian.”

Jon smiled back. It was actually quite cute, now that Damian got a good look at it. “I know…thank you,” he said. “I hope you can earn your place.”

Damian hesitated. “Is your master always so cruel?”

Jon sighed. “General Zod has been good to me,” he said, the words clearly rehearsed. “He took me in when my mother died. He gives me a roof over my head and allows me to eat whatever is left after meals, and keep whatever tips I am given. I am not ungrateful.”

“But he beats you,” Damian said. “Shouts at you, threatens you…”

“Other masters are worse,” Jon said. “My situation is not uncommon, nor is it the worst.” He stood up, his face suddenly closed. “I will fetch a broom, Mr. Wayne,” he said. “Please don’t let me disturb you further.”

Damian stood as well and took a few more coins from his pocket. He pressed them into Jon’s hand. “Call me Damian,” he said. “I will help you…however I can.”

Jon slipped the money into his belt and hurried away. Damian watched him go before returning to the table.

Lois raised her eyebrows. “Everything okay?”

“Fine,” Damian said. “Just fine.”

*

Jon’s head was spinning.

No one had ever stood up to Zod before. No one had ever rushed to his defense or even stopped to think about helping him. No one had ever spoken to him like Mr. Wayne…like Damian had, like he was a human being worthy of help and respect.

It felt so strange, that Damian, who was rich, high class, in the running to become the crown prince of Sataria, should speak to a servant at all. That he spoke to Jon as a human…as an equal…that he wanted to help him, even gave him money…it was all too much to take.

Jon carefully pulled the coins from his belt. It wasn’t much, not really, but it was more money than Jon had ever held in his life. Enough money for some bread, maybe. Or a bowl of relik somewhere else, if he could ever get away.

But he couldn’t. Zod had him working every day, only allowing a few hours’ rest. Fetching, cleaning, serving, anything Zod wanted. Jon knew he was one of the lucky ones, that he had a blanket and a little bit of privacy, even if he did sleep in what was barely more than a cupboard, that he was allowed to keep what few tips he got, but that didn’t make his life feel much easier.

He knew that Damian’s warning and money wouldn’t keep Zod from punishing him eventually. He waited in his room, breath short, heart racing, every footstep past the door sending a shiver through him. He knew that the anticipation was worse than the beating would be, every second torture as he waited for Zod to just come and get it over with.

It was quite late by the time his door opened. Zod was there, whip in hand. Jon lowered his head and stepped out into the narrow hallway behind the dining room, where the guests wouldn’t be. He removed his tunic and placed his hands against the wall. Obedient, ready to receive his punishment.

_ One. _

Jon stood stock still. He wouldn’t move, wouldn’t make this worse on himself. He had learned long ago that any sign of defiance would be quickly beaten out of him.

_ Two. _

Five years here. Five years in service, with nothing to show for it but the scars on his back.

_ Three. _

And he would stay here. Jon had no other place to go, no one else to turn to. He was lucky Zod had decided to take him in and not just left him on the street.

_ Four. _

But Damian had spoken to him. Damian had reminded him there was more out there.

_ Five. _

Maybe, just maybe, Damian would make good on his promise. Maybe if Damian became the crown prince, he could save Jon and everyone like him.

Zod lowered the whip. “Have you learned, boy?”

“Yes, General,” Jon whispered. His back was hurting, probably bleeding, but he was still standing. That was good—the last time he had displeased his master, he had been beaten until he passed out.

“Go to bed. You have chores to do in the morning.”

“Yes, General.” Jon picked up his tunic and went back to his tiny space. He curled up on the floor, his blanket around him.

He slept better that night than he ever had, knowing that, even if Zod still hurt him, there was someone like Damian ready to fight for him.

*

Damian was woken the next morning by a soft knock on the door. He pulled himself off the bed and went to answer.

A tall man stood there, his face and hair covered with a scarf. It took Damian a moment to realize that his eyes were blue, and he smiled and beckoned the visitor inside before carefully closing and locking the door.

Conner removed the scarf and grinned. “Everything all right here?” he asked quietly in English.

“So far,” Damian said. “I dislike the innkeeper, but I have no reason to suspect he is a spy.”

“Never hurts to be careful,” Conner said. He sat down on the bed. “Ugh, how did you sleep on this? It’s hard as a rock!”

“For the price I am paying, it is adequate,” Damian said. “We need to get to business.” He sat down next to Conner. “Does Drake have a plan?”

“Yes,” Conner said. “He’s getting our people together and they’re going to rally support for you throughout the city. If the people love you, they’ll vote for you no matter what you do.”

Damian nodded. “What do I need to do?”

“Get out there. Meet people. Talk about your plans for Sataria.”

“You mean Drake’s plans for Sataria.”

“Same thing,” Conner said. “And if they know that your plans match Tim’s plans, they’ll love you immediately.”

Damian tsked. “I am not Drake,” he said. “They want Drake, and I cannot be him. I do not have his history or his charisma.”

“You’re doing fine,” Conner said. “Lois’s interview yesterday is one of the most watched videos on YouTube right now. I heard a dozen people saying on the way over how they want you to win, if only because Ra's doesn’t want you to.”

Damian nodded in thought. “I cannot do what Drake did,” he said. “But I think I can endear myself to them in my own ways.”

Conner smiled. “I’m sure you can,” he said.

“Thank you, Luthor,” Damian said. “Please tell Prince where you are staying—I do not trust her phone to remain unmonitored for long.”

“I’ll tell her,” Conner said. “Though even if Ra's read their texts, it would take him far too much time and effort to break their code, and that’s assuming he figures out it’s Tim she’s texting.”

“I would rather not take any risks,” Damian said. “I will not visit myself—I have no doubt Ra's has someone tailing me. But Prince and Lane will have an easier time being ignored.”

“Got it,” Conner said. “Anything else?”

Damian hesitated. “I…if you can, I would like to know everything about the man who runs this inn,” he said. “I believe his name is Zod…a general, probably retired.”

“I’ll make inquiries,” Conner said. “But I thought you said you didn’t think he was a spy?”

“I have been known to make mistakes,” Damian said. “And it is best if I know about my host.”

“All right,” Conner said. He secured his scarf again before he left the room.

*

Damian spent that day much as he had the one before, on the street with his people. Many of them were at least cautiously friendly towards him, though he wasn’t sure if it was because of his interview or the fact that he kept throwing money around that kept them talking.

He was grateful Lois was there, since she was taking notes on everything. He would need to study them later and pass them on to Tim. The major things he would remember—better roads, easier building repair, abolishing mandatory military service, that sort of thing, but the minutiae was beyond him.

He stopped in a large pub for lunch, Lois and Diana by his side. They settled in the middle of the room, where they were almost immediately joined by a number of people who seemed eager to talk with Damian.

Most of their grievances were the same ones Damian had been hearing for the last few days, but then one older woman smiled. “I am so glad,” she said. “That Prince Yurem has at least one advocate in this land. Blessings upon you for continuing his work.”

Damian blinked. “I…Prince Yurem is an inspiration to all of us in Gotham,” he finally said. “His work with the Wayne Foundation has done more for our people than any other program in America.”

“But you must know him,” the woman pressed. “As the son of Bruce Wayne.”

“We are…very well acquainted,” Damian said.

“Friends?”

“Not exactly,” Damian mumbled, glancing at Diana for help.

Diana smiled. “Prince Yurem is a wonderful man,” she said. “Always very kind and generous to us…why, one might even call him brother.”

The woman laughed. “Yes, that you could…unless you’re part of the King’s house!”

“A shame,” Diana said. “I would be very proud to have him in my family. But that is not a topic for a public place!”

Damian felt the table move and knew that Lois had aimed a kick at Diana’s ankle.

“That it is not!” the woman crowed. She smiled. “Best of luck to you, Damian Wayne. And if you need a jeweler, there is one two streets over with very strange things.”

“Thank you,” Damian said, slipping a few coins to the woman, mostly so she would go away. She accepted them and took the hint.

Damian waited until they were well away before he turned to Diana. “They speak of defiance so openly,” he said in English to cut down on the chances of eavesdropping. “Why is Ra's not worried?”

“They have no one to rally around,” Diana said. “Tim was that person, but he’s gone. And while Wilson and Dusan are allowed to kill you, Ra's isn’t. He will try to keep your voice quiet in the media, though…he won’t want another rallying point for the rebels.”

“So that is what I must become,” Damian said.

“No,” Diana said. “You cannot become a general in this war. You must be something else. You cannot be their sword. You must be the dagger—you wedge a way in so that they can take back their own.”

“And Drake is the sword?”

“No,” Diana said. “Tim is the shield.”

Damian looked at Lois, who shrugged. “I think what Di is saying is that she really wants to fight someone.”

Diana glared at her wife. “My dear, I don’t fight every minute of the day.”

“You’ve been on edge since last night,” Lois said. “I know that what happened was awful…”

Damian’s mind went back to Jon. So small, so innocent. Of course Diana was upset—her circumstances before joining the Wayne household had been similar. “I have asked for information on General Zod,” he said. “Hopefully we can find a way to help.”

“Throwing money at it didn’t seem to work,” Diana muttered.

Lois took her hand. “We’ll figure something out,” she said. “Now, you take Dami back to the inn and I’ll get a feel for how the contest is going back by the palace.”

“Yes, dear,” Diana said. She took Damian’s arm and steered him toward the inn, a process made longer than usual by the number of people Damian stopped to talk to on the way.

By the time they got back, Damian never wanted to hear about the public education system ever again.

As they headed toward their room, Damian spotted Jon scrubbing the floor of the dining room, no doubt to prepare for dinner. “Go on up,” he said to Diana. “I’ll be there in a minute.”

Diana glanced at Jon and nodded before going up the stairs. Damian stepped carefully toward Jon, hoping his boots didn’t leave too much mud on the floor.

Jon glanced up as he approached. “Can I help you, Mr. Wayne?” he asked.

“Damian,” he corrected. “And I just wanted some company from someone my age. I have spent the day among people many years my senior and their conversations are dull.” He smiled, a rare genuine smile. Not Tim’s charming shark-smile, not Dick’s overly cheery reassurances, not Steph’s brittle business smile. Just him. Just Damian.

“You could find better,” Jon said. “I am a servant. You’re practically a prince.”

“My father fell in love with a farmer,” Damian said. “And we are both American heklin…I think that is more important than prince and pauper.”

Jon half-smiled. “What’s America like?” he asked as he started scrubbing again.

Damian thought for a moment, absently picking up a second rag from the bucket to help. “It is big,” he finally said. “So big that describing ‘America’ is impossible.”

Jon rolled his eyes. “What about where you grew up, then?” he asked.

“Gotham is also big,” Damian said. “But…we have a sort of closeness? As close as eight million people can feel, anyway. It is old, for an American city…in many ways, it feels like Arat, only…darker. More modern, but there is less energy to it…well, until you go down to the refugee neighborhoods.”

“Are there many refugees in Gotham?” Jon asked.

“Yes,” Damian said. “Thousands, I think, or more. When you get to New Arat…that is what they call their part of the city…well, it is like stepping out of Gotham straight into something else. Not Arat itself, but…what it could become, I think, with the proper resources.”

“Is that your plan for us?” Jon asked. “To turn us into Gotham?” His eyes were briefly angry.

“No,” Damian said. “I made no plans for Sataria before I came here. I had heard some suggestions from the people in New Arat, and from Prince Yurem, but I wanted to wait until I had arrived so I could hear what the people of Sataria actually want.” He moved a little closer to Jon. “So…Jon…what do you want from your next King?”

Jon studied him for a moment, blue eyes tired and clearly unhappy. “Kings and princes mean nothing to me,” he said. “My situation is what it is, and a new King won’t change that. And for most of us, that’s how it is. It doesn’t matter who rules us—we’re still poor. We’re still hurting. We’re still desperate. You may help me, as you said, but there will still be hundreds like me. You cannot save us all, King or not.” He stood up to move his bucket to the next section of floor. “I hope you win,” Jon said. “Because you are kind, and some people will benefit from your reign. But don’t ask for contributions from me—all I want is to survive.”

Damian stood and returned the rag. He pulled another coin from his pocket and slipped it to Jon. “When you are free, I would like to see you in my room.”

Jon’s eyes flashed. “I’m not a whore,” he snapped. “If you want one, you’ll have to look elsewhere.”

“What? No!” Damian said. “I told you—I just want to talk to someone my age. And…I like you. I want to be your friend.”

“Oh.” Jon looked confused. “I…I will come to you when I can,” he said. “But please…don’t try to besmirch my honor. Zod will throw me out if I am caught in that manner.”

“It was not my intention to do so,” Damian said.

Jon smiled. “Thank you.”

Damian smiled back and went back upstairs.

*

It had been two weeks since Damian had arrived at the inn. He still spent almost every day out in the market, making friends among the locals, but the evenings were reserved for sitting up on the roof of the inn with Jon, talking about a million things. Damian talked about Gotham, his siblings, school and other normal things. He didn’t trust Jon with the rebellion’s secrets, not yet, but he was beginning to think Jon would be a valuable asset.

Conner had returned once, a dossier on General Zod in hand. Career military man until the rebellion, when a street fight with one of the rebels had left him lame in one leg. Terrifyingly loyal to the King, well-known for his disciplinary measures. His unit of the Satari army had been known as the most cohesive and elite, but also the most severely abused. A combination of fear and admiration had kept Zod in the public mind, though clearly his loyalty hadn’t been enough for Ra's to give him many favors once he’d retired.

After spending so much time with Jon, Damian believed all the stories. Jon was a sweet boy, and seemed like he would be naturally cheerful, but clearly years of abuse had worn him down. Made him…not hard, but tired. Skittish. Hurting and desperate for someone, anyone to love him.

Damian thought that soon, he might.

“She came from a northern village,” Jon was saying as they sat on the roof. The nights were colder than the days, but Damian found it a pleasant change from the constant heat and dust, and he had finally asked about Jon’s mother. “Poor…fishing community…well, most of the north is like that. There isn’t much besides the ocean to sustain them.”

“And your father?”

“He was a part of the American Peace Corps. They were there to try and help…well, they’re usually around the north. But his time of deployment was over before she even knew she was pregnant.” Jon looked across Arat, his eyes distant. “She always said he’d come back for her…that we’d have a better life in America one day. But…if he ever did come back, we didn’t know.”

“Because you were heklin.”

“Yes,” Jon said. “Since my grandfather refused to accept me into his house, she was disgraced. No one there would give her work or shelter…so she came to Arat. Here, people are…well, not more accepting, but it was easy for her to say her husband had died. She found work as a cleaner…as soon as I could walk, I followed along to help her.”

“And then…?”

“She died,” Jon said. “I don’t know why, only that she was sick.”

“You were eleven?”

“Yes,” Jon said. “Too young to enlist in the army…too small to do much more than be a servant. I lived on the street for months…begging…that’s where General Zod found me. I don’t know why he took me in, only that he did…it isn’t…I hate it,” he whispered. “I hate him…but it’s better than dying out there, like most of us do.”

Damian reached over and laid his hand over Jon’s. “I am sorry,” he said.

Jon half-smiled. “What about your mother?”

“Oh…she is alive,” Damian said. “But I have only met her once, when I arrived at the palace to make my claim. I do not trust her, and I want nothing to do with her.”

“But she’s a princess!”

“Yes,” Damian said. “A princess who abandoned me when I was barely a year old and made no attempt to even speak to me afterwards. My father raised me…with help from the butler and the other children he adopted. I consider myself to have no mother.”

“Not even Ms. Prince?”

“Ms. Prince is my assistant,” Damian said. “She was not even a part of my life until five years ago, and I consider her more sister than mother.”

“She’s nice,” Jon said. “And pretty.”

“And married,” Damian added.

Jon nudged their shoulders together. “I can’t think of such things,” he said. “I’m barely considered a man…and I have no money, no position. The only reason I haven’t been called for military service is because General Zod said that being his servant counts.” His face twitched. “I’d rather join the army properly…at least I’d be away from him.”

“I doubt whoever you got instead would be much better,” Damian said. “At least here, you have one friend.”

“Yes,” Jon said. “For the next few months, at least.” He seemed sad.

Damian squeezed his hand. “Always,” he said. “Whatever happens…I will always be your friend, Jon.”

Jon smiled, a full gap-toothed, beautiful smile and Damian’s heart pounded so hard he could barely breathe.

*

If Kara had to spend one more day in Slade Wilson’s presence, she was going to break his teeth.

Four weeks. Four weeks of following him around the affluent neighborhoods of Arat, listening to him schmooze and snake-smile his way through the upper classes. Four weeks of listening him make stupid comments at every woman he met, all with a leer that would normally send Kara running. Four weeks of having him address all his interview answers to Jason instead of her, ignoring her when she said she was the reporter and Jason just her bag-carrier.

She couldn’t punch him, but she was taking great delight in annoying him as much as possible.

“So, Mr. Wilson,” she asked one afternoon as they trawled through jewelers’ shops. “If you become the King of Sataria…”

“When I become the King of Sataria,” he corrected, picking up a gem and paying the shopkeeper before moving to the next one.

Kara grimaced. “What is your plan for the north?” she asked.

He looked at her in confusion. “My plan?”

“Well, yes,” she said. “I’ve been talking to some of the citizens and they’re concerned that resources aren’t reaching the people up north…the ones who bring in the fish for your tables. So I wanted to know what your plan is to help them.”

Wilson looked at her like she’d grown a second head. “The people up north are there because that is where they wish to be,” he said. “If they want to share the resources of Arat, they can come here.”

“But without resources, how would they reach Arat?” Kara asked.

“That’s up to them,” he said, moving into the next shop. “Those with the skills to come will be more than welcomed.”

“So do you plan to offer free education throughout Sataria for people to gain those skills?” Kara asked.

“Why should I do that?” Wilson asked. “If they want that education, they will find a way to get it. It is not up to me to simply hand it over to them.”

“So…you have no plan,” Kara said.

“If people wish to further themselves, they are free to do so,” Wilson said. “But they cannot rely on the King to make it happen for them, not when he has so many other responsibilities.”

Kara sighed. “Noted,” she muttered. She glanced at the counter in the shop. “So what are you looking for that would be the rarest jewel?”

Wilson was too dignified to roll his eyes, but Kara knew it was a close thing. “I will know when I see it,” Wilson said. “As will the good people of Arat.” He picked up another stone and paid the shopkeeper. “Are you quite finished with your questions, Mrs. Todd?”

Kara grimaced. No matter how many times she told Wilson that her name was still Danvers, he still insisted on “Mrs. Todd.” She knew he had more respect for Jason than her, but this was ridiculous.

“Nowhere close,” she answered. “Now, about the refugee crisis in Gotham…”

*

Diana slipped into the tiny room, carefully locking the door before removing her veil and turning around.

Tim grinned at her. “Any trouble?”

“Palace guard tailed me for a bit,” Diana said. “But Lois managed to distract him by asking a bunch of questions so I could lose him.”

“Good,” Tim said. He turned to the man sitting next to her. “Princess Diyanah, may I present my chief of staff, Lonnie Machin?”

Diana dipped her head. “Mr. Machin,” she said.

“Lonnie, my sister, Princess Diyanah.”

Lonnie stood and bowed. “An honor, Your Highness.”

Diana smiled. “Diana, please,” she said. “My brother is being silly; I am no princess now, simply Master Damian’s assistant.”

Cass snorted. “Assistant,” she repeated. “Try valet, bodyguard, secretary, best friend…”

“Assistant is more than adequate,” Diana said. “Really, Mr. Machin, I believe our positions are similar and I consider us to be equals.”

“Call me Lonnie,” he mumbled.

“Right,” Tim said, his voice suddenly business-like. “Now that we’ve sorted that out, to business. It’s been six weeks. How’s Damian doing with his quest?”

“I don’t know if he’s done more than glance through a few jewelry shops, if that’s what you mean,” Diana said. “He doesn’t seem overly concerned about it.”

“I’m not, either,” Tim said. “The point of these quests isn’t to actually find the rarest jewel or whatever. How’s he getting on with the people?”

“They’re warming to him quite quickly,” Diana said. “He’s made quite a few friends among the people in the market…and at the inn where we’re staying.” She half-smiled, remembering listening to Damian and Jon whisper late into the night. “Though I think they would take anyone Ra's hates right now.”

“Good,” Tim said. “Conner?”

“Seems the same where I’m running,” Conner said. “They’re at least curious enough to listen. When I tell them a few choice rumors, they’re sold.”

“Nothing indiscrete, I hope?”

“Just the things they could easily learn themselves,” Conner assured her. “But the mere hint that you two are connected is enough for most.”

“Lonnie?”

“I’ve got people in every neighborhood,” Lonnie said. “By the time the judging takes place, there won’t be anyone who hasn’t heard stories…though I can’t guarantee my agents haven’t taken a few creative liberties.”

“Without press coverage, creative liberties will have to do,” Tim said. “As long as Ra's doesn’t actually hear I’m behind them, of course.”

“I haven’t told anyone you’re in the country,” Lonnie said. “Only that I received word from you. Ra's can’t forbid you using a phone, can he?”

“No,” Tim said. “Is Damian really okay, Di?”

“He’s fine,” she said. “At this point, all he needs is to pick up any random rock off the street and if we’ve done our jobs, it won’t matter.”

*

Two days before the judging, Damian was starting to think he should panic a little.

Oh, he’d spoken well to his people. Made friends here and there, useful contacts in Tim’s rebel group, a few key merchants who knew too much. He’d certainly gotten a laundry list of things that needed to be fixed in Arat, let alone all of Sataria, and according to Diana’s reports, he had garnered quite a lot of popular support throughout the city, mostly thanks to rumors.

The problem was that he didn’t have a jewel, rare or not, to present for the judging.

“I do not know what to do,” he confided to Jon in his room late that night. Jon had just finished a particularly brutal day of work and Damian was rubbing lotion on his friend’s hands where the lye had burned them. “I mean, I can still buy a jewel tomorrow morning, but I cannot be sure that it will be rarer than the ones Wilson and Dusan have found.”

“The only jewel I’ve ever seen belonged to my mother,” Jon said. He gently extracted his hand from Damian’s hold and reached into his pocket, producing a very misshapen pearl. It was a dull grey, not the sort of lustrous shine Damian was used to seeing. “My father found it on the beach and gave it to her…she kept it as a reminder…well, more a false hope that he’d be back.”

Damian half-smiled, shaking his head. “I am shocked he never returned,” he said. “From all you have told me, he seemed to love your mother very much.”

“If he returned, he would have gone to the north to find us gone,” Jon said. “Sometimes I think about going back there…meeting what’s left of her family…see if he did come back…”

“Why not?” Damian asked. “I mean…what is keeping you here?”

“I’ve never known anything but servitude,” Jon said. “I don’t think I’d survive on my own for long…I’m not like you, Damian…I’m not brave enough to go back to a home I never knew in the hopes that I could earn my place in the world…and even if I did, the only place I could earn is as a fisherman. At least in Arat, I might find something else…and even if I did find my mother’s family, they didn’t accept me before—why should they accept me now that I’m a nobody?”

Damian moved closer to Jon. “I think you are brave,” he said. “You endure everything from Zod…you remain cheerful in spite of everything he has done to you. You are beautiful, Jon…and kind, and hard-working…I believe you could survive outside of this place…I believe you would be better off, and that your mother’s family would be proud of you. You are a man now…you could find another trade beyond being a servant.”

“I have no other skills,” Jon said. “I can either remain a servant or join the army to die…die as a slave or die on the street. I have no future, Damian…but you do.” He took Damian’s hand, his fingers a bit stiff still. “Don’t throw it away on me.”

Damian looked into Jon’s eyes for a long moment. Blue eyes, eyes he got lost in too easily, paired with the rare but adorable smile, a handsome if malnourished face…Damian couldn’t stop himself. He leaned in and pressed a kiss to Jon’s lips, a bare brush before he pulled away. Jon blinked at him in shock.

“My future is secure no matter where I turn,” he said. “Either I end up the Crown Prince of Sataria or I go back to America as the son of a billionaire. I may want what is best for our country, but I am not what is important—you are. My people are. And I will throw my life away happily for either one.”

Jon stared for a moment before he threw an arm around Damian’s neck and dragged him in for another kiss. This one was longer, slightly wet from their inexperience, but Damian was overwhelmed and overjoyed as he wound his arms around Jon’s waist, pressing closer, letting one hand slip up the back of Jon’s tunic to feel warm skin.

“Is the door locked?” Jon whispered.

“Yes,” Damian breathed. “And I have lotion left.”

Jon nodded and reached over to turn off the lamp.

*

Jon lay awake, curled on Damian’s chest, more at peace than he’d ever felt before. He was warm, and safe for just a moment. Even if Zod did catch them, he wouldn’t dare do anything to Jon in Damian’s presence.

He breathed deeply, wanting to memorize every detail of this moment. Every bit of Damian. The warmth of his skin, the feeling of his arms wrapped around Jon. The slightly spicy smell of his soap—so exotic and American, so warm and inviting. The steady rise and fall of his chest as he breathed deep in his sleep. The look of peace on his face, so different from the carefully curated expressions he usually wore. Asleep, Damian looked so calm. So vulnerable. Not a man trying to win the throne, just a boy, a lost, lonely, beautiful boy…just like Jon.

He could lay here forever, perhaps even sleep for a few minutes, but he knew better. He knew that if he stayed too long, he would wake late to go about his duties. Jon sighed, wishing he could have more than a few hours with Damian. A day would be wonderful. A few weeks even better. Years…

Well. Jon could be happy sharing years with Damian, if he had any reason to believe he would get any to share. He knew that he wouldn’t, that employment with Zod would keep his life short, that even if he could escape it, Damian wouldn’t want to keep Jon for very long. That was how it was with American boys, wasn’t it? His mother always said so. As much as she wanted to believe his father would come back, she had always known he wouldn’t. Jon had no reason to believe Damian would return for him. He was just glad they had gotten to have this.

He carefully extracted himself from Damian’s hold and dressed quietly. He looked back at his sleeping lover, wanting to hold the image in his mind for as long as possible. He stepped back over to the bed and pressed a careful kiss to Damian’s lips before he took the pearl from his pocket and placed it on the pillow beside him.

Jon smiled and slipped out of the room to start his chores. He would treasure this night for the rest of his life—even though he knew the rest of his life would barely be enough time to remember it.

*

Damian blinked at the pounding on his door. He sighed and rolled over and was surprised to find the bed empty. He frowned, wondering how he had slept so soundly that Jon could slip out of bed without waking him.

The knocking continued and Damian groaned. “Prince…” he mumbled.

“I’m sorry, Master Damian, but we need to finish the quest and return to the palace today,” she called. “I have already ordered breakfast so get up!”

Damian sighed and got up. He dressed quickly and glanced back at the bed.

Jon was long gone, but his mother’s pearl lay on the pillow. Damian reached down and picked it up, thinking. He smiled and opened the door.

“Do not concern yourself, Prince,” he said. “Our quest is over.”

*

The square in front of the main balcony of the palace was more crowded than Tim could remember it ever being. The heat was more oppressive than ever with the press of bodies around him and the heavy dress and veil he wore.

Lonnie had tried to talk him out of attending, saying that there would be more guards than ever around the palace, but Tim had overruled him. He had to be there, had to see the judgment for himself. He needed to know now if their cause was gaining enough traction to hope for any real change.

Cass stood on one side, Conner on the other. All three were in disguise, trying to be as unobtrusive as possible. Tim pressed close to Conner—if nothing else, he relied on his friend to protect him if a riot did break out.

They had been waiting for nearly ten minutes before the doors opened and Ra's stepped out, followed by the three contestants. They weren’t close enough to see them for real, of course—the broadcast screens around the square would show every moment of the action for those not close to the front.

“My people!” Ra's called out and a hush fell over the crowd. “The first quest of the ke’la manji has ended. All that is left is the judgment, which you are all called to give.”

There was a shout, so loud and chaotic Tim could barely pick out individual words. He smiled behind the veil—it was so nice to be back in Arat, where no one cared about being politely quiet.

Ra's held up his hand for silence. “Each of the champions shall present his jewel,” he said. “And then you will vote on which is the rarest.” He turned. “Slade Wilson, present your jewel.”

Wilson stepped forward. Tim bristled, grabbing Conner’s hand. The scars on his back and shoulders were tingling, memories he thought he had long repressed rearing up in his mind. That satisfied leer…those cruel eyes…the pain, so much pain…

Conner squeezed Tim’s hand. “He can’t see you,” Conner whispered. “You’re safe, Alanna.”

Tim nodded, but didn’t let go of Conner’s hand. Cass moved over and took his other hand, staying close as well.

Wilson took a multifaceted blue stone out of his pocket and held it up for the cameras. There were appreciative murmurs throughout the crown. “I scoured this land for the perfect gem,” Wilson said. “And this piece of tanzanite was the most exotic thing I found.” He showed it off for a moment before going to Ra's and kneeling, presenting the stone.

Ra's took it and smiled. “Your entry is accepted,” he said. “Dusan al Ghul, present your jewel.”

Dusan stepped forward and produced a red stone from his pocket. “I searched high and low,” he said. “And I found a red diamond, a jewel that very few will ever see.” He held it up as Wilson had before going and presenting it to the King.

Ra's nodded. “Your entry is accepted,” he said. “Damian Wayne, present your jewel.”

Damian stepped up to the camera lens. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small grey stone, round but imperfectly so, dull and discolored. It took Tim a moment to recognize what it was.

“I spent many days among you,” Damian said. “I saw all that Arat has to offer, and this pearl is the rarest jewel I have ever seen.” He turned and knelt before Ra's, but there was nothing submissive or respectful about it. He was clearly ready to stand, looked at Ra's’ face instead of at the ground, holding the stone out as if daring Ra's to take it.

Ra's glared at Damian. “Do you mock this contest, Damian?” he hissed. “Do you intend to shame us with common pearls?”

“Not at all,” Damian said. “My worthy cousins have brought you rare jewels…for most people. But if I look in your treasury now, I will find dozens like them. Perfectly cut, shining and beautiful. You asked for the rarest jewel, not the most perfect…and you will find nothing like this discolored, misshapen pearl anywhere else in your kingdom. The imperfections are rarely recreated…and the meaning behind it is utterly unique.”

Ra's glared for another moment, clearly trying to come up with an argument. Having found none, he finally took the stone. “Your entry is accepted,” he snarled. Damian smirked and stood up to step back.

Ra's turned to the people. “You have seen what the champions have presented,” he called. “And now I call upon your judgment. Each of you was given three cards as you arrived. Raise the red for Slade Wilson, the green for Dusan al Ghul, and the blue for Damian Wayne.”

Tim watched with bated breath as everyone raised a card. The cameras turned to catch the crowd and Tim stared in wonder at the screens. Toward the front, where the upper classes were, the red and green clashed, almost even, but behind them, the common people had raised an almost full sea of blue. Tim felt like laughing. They had done it. Damian had clearly won the love of the people, at least enough that his little speech convinced them of his wisdom.

Ra's looked less pleased when the cameras turned back to him. “Damian Wayne,” he said. “You have clearly won this task.”

Damian wasn’t smiling, exactly, but Tim knew him well enough to spot the little smirk playing around his lips. Damian took one step forward and bowed his head toward the people in clear thanks.

“The second quest will be announced at sunrise,” Ra's said before turning on his heel and storming back inside. Wilson and Dusan followed, but Damian once again stepped forward. He looked at the people for a long moment before he gave them a real, genuine smile and raised his hand, palm out, elbow bent, greeting them. Thanking them, connecting to them.

And as one, all the common people raised their hands in greeting back.


	5. Chapter 4

The very first person Damian saw upon going back inside was Dick, who immediately snatched him up in a hug and spun him around.

“You did it!” Dick said. “Oh, Dami, I’m so proud!”

“Grayson, let go before I stab you,” Damian growled.

Dick laughed and put Damian down. “We’re having a bit of a party back in our quarters,” he said. “Bruce and Steph ran to set up…we had hoped you’d win, but…”

“I was prepared for any outcome,” Damian said. “This is only a first step. I have three more tasks to complete.”

“Every victory’s worth celebrating,” Dick said. “And we haven’t seen you in three months…we have a lot to catch up on.”

“Yes,” Damian said. His mind was far away. “Yes, we do.”

Dick must have noticed his mood. “Is something wrong, Damian?”

Damian hesitated. He had to talk to someone, and, in spite of their age difference, of all his brothers, Dick was the one he was closest to. “I, um…” Damian wasn’t blushing. Damian Wayne did not blush, period. “The night before last...I…there was a serving boy at the inn where I was staying,” he said. “And…and he is wonderful, Grayson. He is beautiful and strong and…and I think I might love him.”

“Oh,” Dick said, clearly a bit surprised. “Well…I mean, isn’t that a good thing?”

“He is bound by his position,” Damian said. “And I wish to help him, the way Father helped Kent, but…I do not know how. And…and we…um…well, he gave me the pearl yesterday morning…early yesterday morning.”

Dick’s brow furrowed for a second before his face cleared. “Oh, Damian,” he whispered. “You…?”

Damian nodded, suddenly ashamed. In the moment, it had been fine, but now, in the light of day, facing his brother…

Dick pulled Damian into another, less exuberant hug. “Are you okay?” he asked.

“I…yes,” Damian said. “It was…it was nice,” he mumbled into Dick’s chest. “But…I will have to go back…thank him…get him out of there…”

“Yes,” Dick said. “You can’t just abandon him.” He pulled back and looked at Damian in worry. “Are you sure you’re okay? I know that losing your virginity is emotional…”

“Grayson!” Damian yelped. “I was not going to speak of it that way!”

“Am I wrong about that?”

“…no,” Damian said. “I am…confused,” he said. “I was happy, with him, and I will go back, but…my feelings are a bit…jumbled?”

Dick nodded. “That’s normal,” he assured him. “And…you are very young for it. I know,” he said as Damian opened his mouth. “By Satari standards you’re an adult, but sixteen is still very young for all this. Your brain’s going to be a little mixed up for a while.” He smiled at Damian. “But you’re going to be okay. As long as you don’t plan to just toss this boy aside and break his heart…”

“I would never!” Damian protested.

“You’ll be fine,” Dick said. “Now come on…let’s not keep them waiting.” He took Damian by the shoulder and steered him into the other room.

*

Zod stormed into the dining room, where Jon was scrubbing the floor in anticipation of that night’s dinner. Jon shrank back, immediately recognizing that his master was in a worse temper than usual.

Zod didn’t stop moving for a moment. He grabbed Jon by the hair and dragged him to his feet and into the small kitchen. “Out,” he barked at the cook, who scurried away. Zod threw Jon into the wall by the stove. Jon only managed to stay standing by sheer shock.

Zod glared for another minute before he backhanded Jon across the face, knocking him to the ground. Jon stayed down, hoping he wouldn’t draw his master’s ire any more.

“Damian Wayne won the first quest of the ke’la manji,” Zod said.

Jon looked up, confused. Why should Damian’s victory cause this? If anything, Zod should be pleased—he had housed Damian during the quest. Surely that alone would draw more customers in!

“Do you know what he presented to the King?”

Jon knew. He had realized that Damian wouldn’t find anything actually precious before the time was up, so he had given him the only thing he could.

“He presented that hideous thing your mother left you,” Zod continued, not waiting for an answer. “And I wondered—how would he get that? Perhaps he stole it…but you never let it out of your sight. And I’d certainly know if you were weeping over it like the sniveling brat you are. So I realized that you must have given it to him…and I wondered…why would you ever do such a thing?” He dragged Jon up by the collar and slammed him back into the wall. “I made it clear when you entered my inn that you were to behave honorably…but I should have known you’d be a slut like your mother.”

“Please…” Jon whispered. He didn’t know what he was asking for, only that he didn’t want whatever Zod had planned for him.

Zod hit him again. Jon’s head snapped to the side, bruises blossoming over his cheek. Jon squeezed his eyes shut to force the tears back. He would not cry. He would not let Zod break him that way.

There was a pause and Jon dared open his eyes. Zod had grabbed a bucket—the one with the acid used to clean the stove.

Instinctively, Jon’s hands flew up to cover his eyes and he pressed his lips tight together. He didn’t see the throw. All he knew was that he was burning, pain overwhelming him. He could hear screaming, screaming that took him a long moment to realize was his own. His hands and the lower half of his face and neck were on fire, skin falling away, and he was on the ground, writhing, screaming, and then everything went black.

*

“What do you think Ra's will assign tomorrow?” Steph asked. It was fairly late at night, but the family was still awake, laughing over Damian’s victory.

“Hopefully something just as easy to misinterpret,” Damian said. “You saw his face when I gave him that pearl—I doubt anyone will stop talking about that for years.”

“Do you think it’s safe?” Bruce asked. “Openly defying him in public? If you aren’t careful, you could end up disqualified…or executed.”

“What for?” Damian asked. “He asked for a rare jewel, I gave him one. I stayed in Arat the entire time, and there are hundreds of people who can attest to that. And even if I had not, the rules state I must be in Sataria—that gives me a few hundred miles to work with. And while the rules state I can only take one servant with me, they do not say that other people cannot help me with the quests. I did exactly as Ra's told me—it is not my fault if he does not like it.”

Dick laughed. “Tim’s going to be so proud of you,” he said. “I wish he could have seen it live and not just on YouTube later!”

Damian and Diana exchanged a look. They knew better than to speak of Tim’s actions in the palace itself—Damian had no doubt the suite was bugged.

“It’s truly a miracle,” Bruce said. “We’ve finally found one thing Tim and Dami can agree on.”

“I’ll drink to that,” Diana said. “Things are changing very quickly…and it’s happening everywhere.”

Damian nodded. “Yes,” he said. “I have a good feeling about all of this.”

“And there’s another miracle,” Steph said.

*

Back in the slums of Arat, another celebration was going on, slightly less sober.

“Did you see his face?” Conner crowed. “I thought he was going to have a heart attack right there!” He grinned and raised the bottle in his hand. “And Damian did that without prompting!”

“He is clever,” Cass said. “And he must have realized that being a little shit to Ra's would only make the people love him more.”

“Love him more?” Lonnie repeated. “Lady Cassandra, they’ve been talking of nothing else! That story’s spread all over the city and is quickly getting out of it! At this point, the only way Damian can lose is if Tim tells them not to vote for him!”

“Which I won’t,” Tim said. “All of this depends on Damian getting that crown…I’d rather not attempt an open war again.”

“We’d rather not, either,” Lonnie said. “Don’t think my shoulder can take that again.”

“This is just one victory,” Tim continued. “We need to keep up the momentum…that display on the balcony will do a lot of that, but we need to keep it building for the next task. Lonnie, just how creative are your agents getting?”

“Pretty creative,” Lonnie said. “I think at least one said that Damian slayed an actual dragon once.”

“I don’t think we need to take it that far,” Cass said. “We want this believable.”

“We need him to be more than a figurehead,” Lonnie argued. “We need Damian to be a symbol in his own right…we need him to become a legend like Tim. Someone who can rally the people on his own.”

“If you want the people to think of him the way they do Tim, they’re better off not talking to him,” Cass said. “Oh, he can be charming,” she added as the others looked at her. “But Damian doesn’t have Tim’s…what’s the word…inspiration? He’s not much of a leader. He can wave at the people, and sass Ra's all day long, but ask him to make a speech to hundreds and he’s toast.”

“And the people will want speeches,” Tim said. “Even if I write them for him, he won’t be able to give the delivery correctly if he has to talk to all of them.”

“Maybe we’d better get him out of Arat,” Conner said. “Have him see the rest of the country…let rumors filter back from other parts of Sataria while we fuel the ones we already started.”

“Probably for the best,” Tim agreed, already pulling his phone out to send a message. “He needs to see beyond the city anyway…you think this is bad, you should see the places farther out…the ones Ra's doesn’t care about at all.”

“North,” Lonnie said. “Tell him to go to the north…that’s where the people need him most.”

*

Damian was starting to get tired of standing on this balcony. Sure, the first time had been kind of cool, seeing all the people below him, standing before them in his proper place, but twice in two days was a bit excessive.

“My people!” Ra's called. “The second quest of the ke’la manji begins now. The same rules apply as before.”

There was shouting, cheering, and Damian’s head was starting to hurt a little.

“For the next quest…” Ra's paused dramatically and Damian wondered why all the Satari had to be so extra. Then again, it wasn’t like he was immune from it. “Whoever brings me the finest cloth shall win the quest.”

Ra's went back inside. Damian was glad the speech was short this time—standing at attention through Ra's’s monologuing was exhausting.

Damian waved to his people before he went back in to meet Diana. “Finest cloth,” he said. “What do you believe he means?”

“Generally how tightly-woven it is,” Diana said. “Could also mean the most expensive. Or the most pleasing to touch. Really, a very open-ended request.” She tossed Damian his helmet. “I’ve gotten word that the people of the north would like to meet you.”

“And I would like to meet them,” Damian said. “But…we need to stop at that inn first…I need to thank Jon and…” He glanced at Diana. He wasn’t sure how much Dick had told her, but he knew that his brother tended to run his mouth.

“And take him with us?” Diana finished.

“I have to,” Damian said. “I will not abandon him the way his father did…the way my mother did.”

“The rules, Damian,” Diana said. “You can take one servant with you, and I’m not leaving you without protection. Jon’s a nice boy, but I doubt he could fight off Dusan or Slade if they decided to win by killing you.”

“Then we will bring him back to the palace and leave him with Father,” Damian said. “I am not leaving him in Zod’s care any longer than I have to.”

Diana didn’t say more as they started their bikes and left the palace grounds. They rode into the city, not speaking to anyone until they reached the inn. Damian parked outside. “Wait here,” he said. “It should not take long.”

He went inside and spotted Zod immediately. Damian marched over, his eyes blazing.

“Mr. Wayne,” Zod said. “We did not expect to see you back so soon.”

“I am afraid I am not staying, General,” Damian said. “I am here to make an offer.”

Zod raised his eyebrows. “I’m listening.”

“I find that my household is in need of additional help,” Damian said. He’d been thinking through how to approach this all night. “And your serving boy, Jon, is exactly the sort of person we need. I will pay you…enough to hire a new servant.”

Zod looked at him for a moment and Damian caught a flash of anger in his eyes. “I’m afraid Jon has left my service,” Zod said. “He behaved dishonorably, so I have sent him away.”

Damian’s blood froze. He knew what Zod meant. Somehow, Zod had deduced what they had done…what Damian had done.

Damian pressed his lips together. “I apologize for bothering you,” he said through gritted teeth before he turned and left the inn.

Diana immediately noticed something was wrong. “Did General Zod not agree?”

“Jon is gone,” Damian said shortly. “I do not know where…but I know it is my fault.” He blinked quickly to stop the tears. How could he have been so stupid? How could he have used Jon that way? Now his friend…his lover was out on the street somewhere and Damian didn’t even know where to begin looking for him.

Diana reached over and squeezed his hand. Damian regained himself. He had resources.

“Tell Drake to have his people keep an eye out,” he said. “It should not be hard to find a Satari boy with blue eyes.”

“Master Damian…”

“Just do it,” Damian growled. Diana sighed and sent off a message as Damian started his bike again. “To the north,” he said, and rode off, Diana following.

*

Clark was bored.

He shouldn’t have been—following a contestant in the ke’la manji should have been the most interesting assignment he’d ever have—but Dusan spoke rarely, ignored questions, and was too focused on completing his quests and pleasing Ra's to really pay attention to much else.

It did not make for a very riveting news story.

Still, having Damian sweep the first quest did give the opportunity for a decent interview, and Clark would at least try to take it.

“So, Mr. al Ghul,” Clark said, following Dusan down into the city. “Last night was a bit of an upset. How are you feeling?” His Satarian wasn’t great, but it got the point across.

“The heklin brat was merely lucky,” Dusan said.

“Lucky all the people decided he should win?”

“He is clever,” Dusan said grudgingly. “He knows how to make a pretty speech…sway a crowd. But once the novelty wears off, he will have to do as he’s told.”

“I thought the King could do as he pleased?” Clark asked.

“He is not yet King,” Dusan said. “The people will turn on him…they always do in the end. Love is easily lost…fear is easy to reassert.”

“So that’s your plan? To rule by fear?”

“It has worked for my uncle,” Dusan said.

“Except a few rebellions.”

“Easily put down once the rabble-rousers were disposed of,” Dusan said. “Is there a purpose to these questions?”

“Merely trying to get a sense of your…leadership style,” Clark said. “So…for the second quest, what’s your plan?”

Dusan turned away. “That would be telling, Mr. Kent.”

“Oh, please? If you want to talk to your people, now’s a good time.”

“Stop pestering me or I will have you removed.”

Clark stopped talking, but was writing very fast. Dusan went into the city, down to the poorer districts where Damian had been hanging around. Clark quirked an eyebrow and quickly sent off a text without Dusan noticing.

_ Dusan in slums if you want to ruin his day. _

A minute later, his phone pinged. He forced himself to hide his smile as he read Conner’s reply.

_ Give us five minutes. _

Clark would never know how Conner had managed to set up so many symbols of bad luck in five minutes and was afraid to ask. The only conclusion he could draw was that it had all been set up well in advance and was just waiting for the right person.

The ladder was unexpected, the paint even moreso. Dusan only looked disgusted. “This is why fear is necessary,” he said to Clark, who had sidestepped the worst of the paint easily. “They would pay more attention with a healthy amount.”

“Well, maybe it’s cause I’m here,” Clark said. “I’m American so walking under that was bad luck.”

Dusan rolled his eyes. “Silly superstitions,” he said.

“So you don’t believe in luck?”

“I don’t believe that taking certain actions over others changes the course of fate.”

Clark made a note.

Dusan ignored most of the people as he stepped into a tailor’s shop. Clark was quick to note the broom lying across the floor that Dusan stepped over as he went to look at the cloth. Clark shook his head.

It continued throughout the day, small inconveniences and signs of ill luck. Dusan ignored all of it, didn’t even mention it, even as the server in the bar knocked a glass of water on him.

“Seems a long run of bad luck is hitting you,” Clark observed.

“Only the peasants believe in bad luck,” Dusan said dismissively. “This is simply life.”

“Yeah, but all of them in one day?” Clark said. “That seems like a sign to me.”

Dusan rolled his eyes. “I suppose you will say I have an evil eye upon me next.”

“It’s possible,” Clark said innocently. “I notice your quest isn’t making much progress.”

“It is only the first day,” Dusan said. “Give me three months among them, like the heklin had, and the future will be secure.”

“I look forward to it,” Clark said, making a note on his phone before sending another text.

_ We’ll be here a while. Hope you’ve got plenty of hijinx set up. _

The answer was very promising.

*

Damian didn’t stop until they were well out of Arat and into the country. At first they rode through farmland, but that quickly gave way to wastelands, only a few scattered settlements here and there.

They finally stopped in a tiny village with a very tiny inn. Damian barely spoke to the innkeeper, merely handed her a handful of coins in exchange for two rooms and dinner. He didn’t stop in the common room to speak to anyone, merely went to his room and locked the door.

He sat on the bed and finally, finally allowed himself to cry.

He had known that it was a risk. Jon had warned him, had told him not to make any advances, but Damian had anyway. He had blown past the unspoken boundaries they had laid for themselves and for what? A pretty face and a night of awkward fumbling that eventually turned into something pleasurable?

No…no, it had been more than that. In the moment, with Jon in his arms, it felt like love. Or at least what Damian had always imagined what love felt like. The emotions had overwhelmed the physical sensations, and Damian had never wanted to leave.

And now he’d lost Jon, probably forever. Even if Tim’s people found him, he wouldn’t want anything to do with Damian now. Damian had lost him his home and position—he didn’t even want to think about what Zod would have done before throwing Jon out.

A horrible thought crossed Damian’s mind. What if Zod hadn’t merely dismissed Jon? What if he had killed him and lied so Damian wouldn’t report him? If Jon was dead because of him…

Damian choked, trying to make himself breathe easily through the tears. No. Jon was alive. He had to be. If he wasn’t…if Damian had gotten one of his people killed by his own foolish actions…

Well, if he had, he wasn’t worthy to be King at all and he might as well give up now.

There was a knock on the door. Damian composed himself and went to open it.

Diana was there, holding a tray. “I thought I should bring this myself,” she said gently. “If you wish to eat with me.”

Damian half-smiled. “Come in,” he said, his voice quiet. Diana followed him in and he closed the door. They sat down at the little coffee table to eat. The relik was wonderful, better than what Zod had given them, but Damian only managed a few bites before his tears and the knots in his stomach forced him to stop.

Diana put her spoon aside. “Dami…”

“He could be dead,” he said. “He could be dead and it is all my fault…Prince…Diana…”

She moved around the table and put her arms around him, pulling him close. Damian stiffened for barely a second before he collapsed into her, sobbing into her chest. She petted his hair and made soothing noises, like she always did on the rare occasion when Damian broke.

This time was different. This time, she couldn’t comfort him. The tears kept coming, tears for Jon, tears for his country. What kind of King would he be, however briefly, if this was how he reacted to tragedy? What sort of man was he, if he would take a lover and then leave the next day without thought of taking him along? What sort of person was he, that he would abandon the best friend he’d ever had to a death he could have prevented?

Diana didn’t move at all, just let him cry as long as he needed, not even minding as her dress grew very wet from his tears. It was only after Damian had calmed down some that she settled into a more comfortable position on the floor and guided him to lie down. He lay there, head on her knee, still crying well into the night. She stroked his forehead, silent until he finally slept.

*

They were up early the next day. Damian didn’t feel any better about himself, but he knew he had to plaster on a smile and charm his people. He went to the common room, apologized for his standoffishness the night before, and then spent the morning talking to the villagers as he had the people of Arat. They were pleased he was there, and gave him a list of things they would like. More support from the city. Easier trade routes with better roads. Resources to make their way outward instead of being concentrated in the capitol.

They left in the afternoon, going further north. Damian’s pace was less punishing than the day before, though it was still nice to be on empty roads with no speed limits. In spite of his turmoil, he felt a little bit better being so free. Part of him wanted to keep riding forever, straight into the sea, and leave Sataria to its own devices.

But he couldn’t do that. He’d made a promise, and even if he didn’t feel worthy of being King, he still had to keep it.

Evening was falling as they reached the coast. Damian spotted a small cluster of huts and rode towards it, hoping to find shelter for the night.

As they rode into the village, Damian realized that might be difficult. There were maybe fifty huts, all run-down and falling apart. The people of the village were down at the beach. Several men were out in boats, but the rest of the village, even the children, were dragging nets of fish in. A truck was nearby, and the villagers were loading the fish into it. Damian and Diana stopped at the edge of the village and watched for a moment before Damian set his helmet aside and walked down to them.

“Et’na dami,” he said to one of the groups. “Would you like another pair of hands?”

One of the women looked up, scowling slightly. “’Course,” she said. “But we can’t pay.”

“I do not ask for payment,” Damian said, moving to a clear space and getting a grip on the net. “I only wish to help.”

The woman raised an eyebrow but raised no objection as Damian helped pull the net in. Diana moved over to another group and began to help as well.

They worked through the evening, hauling in the fish and loading it into the truck. Damian soon lost himself in the work, letting the physical labor wash away some of his guilt. It was heavy, dirty work, but simple, good. Damian’s hands blistered, then bled, but he didn’t stop, didn’t complain, only turned to the next net, the next task.

By the time they were done, the sky was quite dark and Damian was very sore and tired, but he felt…calm. Clean, in spite of the sand and blood and sweat.

“You work well,” the woman he had spoken to before said. “But you are rich…why are you here?”

They were walking toward the largest building, a sort of community center where Damian hoped there would be food. “I am Damian Wayne,” he said. “I have come to the north to learn about my people and how to serve you, in the hope that I win the ke’la manji.”

She blinked. “But…the ke’la manji is judged in Arat,” she said. “Why would you come here?”

“The people of Arat have already seen my worth,” Damian said. “I wished to learn more of Sataria…know more of my people.”

She smiled. “Kate,” she said, holding out her hand, not seeming to care about the blood on Damian’s hands.

Damian shook her hand. “I am pleased to meet you,” he said. “My assistant, Diana Prince-Lane,” he said, waving his hand.

Kate smiled. “Pleasure,” she said.

“Likewise,” Diana said.

“So…” Damian said. “What do you want from your King?”

Kate snorted. “You think we care?” she asked. “Anyone could be King; it makes no difference to us. We bring in the fish…we send it to Arat and they send a few things back. We take care of each other, because the King will not. You ask what we want from our King? We want anything. Because we have nothing from him.”

Damian nodded thoughtfully. They took their place in the line in the communal building, picking up bowls. “Fish soup, I take it?” Damian asked.

“It is what we have,” Rayna said.

“It will be adequate,” Damian said.

They shuffled through the line. Damian’s eyes were down, deep in thought. How could anyone leave any of their people to fend for themselves?

It wasn’t until he heard a very familiar crash that he turned.

There was a boy on the other side of the room, who had clearly just dropped his bowl. He didn’t seem to notice, though…nor did Damian.

Blue eyes. So familiar, past the scarf. In a daze, Damian walked towards him.

“Jon?” he whispered.

“Dami…what are you doing here?” His voice was hoarse, slightly muffled, but it was him.

“I…” Damian moved to him, wanting to embrace him, wanting to apologize a thousand times. “I thought you were dead.”

Jon blinked rapidly. “I almost was,” he said.

The room had fallen silent, watching them. Damian’s heart broke again hearing it. “I am sorry,” he said. “I went back for you…I was going to take you to the castle, to my father…”

Jon held up his hand. He wore black gloves, no doubt to protect them from the nets, but most others had taken theirs off. “Don’t,” he said. “It’s my fault Zod found out…I was just happy you won.” He looked up and even past the scarf Damian knew he was smiling. “I’m glad you came…this is a place you should see.”

Damian nodded, smiling back as he pulled Jon into his arms. Jon was startled, but then embraced him in return.

A soft cough made them break apart. Diana had raised her eyebrows. “Perhaps we should eat our dinner,” she said. “And then take this somewhere less public.”

“I…” Jon began. “I’m not actually hungry,” he finished. “I’ll…I’ll meet you outside.”

Damian’s brow furrowed. “But…”

“I promise, Dami…I’ll see you later.” Jon squeezed his hand and hurried out of the hall.

Damian glanced at Kate and beckoned her over. She joined them as they sat down. “What happened to him?” Damian asked.

Kate shrugged. “I don’t know…he just arrived here yesterday…he’d hitched a ride on the truck and asked for shelter in exchange for work. Well…you’ve seen how it is, we can always use more hands, and poor old Mrs. al-Kusad passed away last week so we had a hut empty we told him he could have. He works hard…keeps his head down…doesn’t take his scarf off, but that’s not unusual.”

Damian frowned. “Was he hurt when he came here?” he asked.

“He was limping,” Rayna said. “And he only uses one hand. But he works twice as hard and we won’t tell him no.”

Damian nodded. He picked up the soup bowl and drank the broth quickly. “Forgive me,” he said. “But…well, I…”

Diana rolled her eyes. “Go,” she said. “I’m waiting for Lois to catch up anyway, and it will be easier for her to find me here.”

Damian nodded and hurried out of the hall.

Jon was indeed waiting outside, standing against the wall. Damian smiled and offered his hand. “Walk with me?” he asked.

Jon accepted his hand, the rough cloth of the gloves keeping Damian grounded, reminding him Jon was here, that he was real and alive. They wandered through the little village.

“It isn’t much,” Jon said. “Perhaps a hundred people, all fishers…except for the man who owns the truck. He comes in the evening to pick up the fish, and brings what Arat sees fit to give us.”

“Kate told me you have a home here.”

Jon nodded. “It’s…it’s adequate,” he said. “And…if you wish to stay, you are welcome to live there…with me.”

Damian smiled. “I would like that,” he said. He glanced at Jon’s hands. “Kate said you only use one hand.”

Jon took a deep breath and looked at his free hand, which he held stiffly by his side. “Zod broke it,” he said. “I…I found a physician who put it together, but…it heals slowly.”

“What else?” Damian asked, his voice an angry whisper.

“It doesn’t matter,” Jon said. “We’re together again.”

“Jon…”

“It’s over, Dami. I’m making a life here…I’ll be fine.”

“I will stay,” Damian declared. “These people…our people…they need help. And I can provide it.”

“Is Ms. Prince staying with you?”

“I believe so,” Damian said. “Her and Ms. Lane...but they can find someplace else…”

“No,” Jon said. “No, they should stay with you.” They had reached a hut toward the back of the village. Jon opened the door to reveal a small room, dusty but neat. A bed in one corner, a table and chairs in the other. There was a worn travelling bag next to the bed and nothing else. “This is it,” Jon said.

Damian smiled. “It is perfect,” he said.

*

Diana arrived late that night and shook her head. “I suspect she’ll arrive tomorrow,” she said.

Damian nodded. “I hope she is not put out by the arrangements.”

“She won’t find better anywhere else,” Jon said. “Really, four of us to one house is not unusual…some have more…the ones with children.”

“Do you have spare blankets?” Diana asked. “I can set up a second bed of sorts…something warm, anyway.”

“You take the bed,” Jon said. He and Damian had already discussed it. “We can keep each other warm.”

Diana raised an eyebrow. “No funny business,” she warned.

“None,” Damian agreed.

He and Jon curled together in a corner, holding each other to share warmth under a thin blanket. Jon still had not removed his scarf. Damian wondered if he should ask, but decided against it. Whatever Jon was hiding, he would tell Damian when he was ready.

In spite of the hard floor and the draft slipping in from between the slats, Damian slept better that night than he had in days, Jon’s weight and warmth assuring him that everything would be fine.

But late that night, when the hut was so dark that Damian could see nothing, he woke. Jon had shifted slightly, curled more tightly in Damian’s arms, breath hot on his cheek. It took Damian a moment to notice. “Jon?” he whispered.

“Shh,” Jon said. He pressed a kiss to Damian’s lips, rough and dry but still warm. “Go back to sleep, ak-linel.”

Damian smiled and kissed Jon again. He wished he could see him, but soon closed his eyes and drifted off again.

*

Lois was exhausted.

She had given up trying to keep up with Damian the day before and simply relied on Diana to let her know when he was ready for the press to catch up. Now, apparently he was, and of course he was in the middle of nowhere.

It had taken hours to get a taxi willing to even take her out of Arat, and then it had stopped in what the driver called “the last bit of civilization.” After that, Lois had spent almost an hour trying to hitchhike further, getting dropped in sleepy hamlets and having to start over again.

But finally, after spending a night in an inn that she was sure had bedbugs everywhere, she had managed to find the correct truck to take her all to the way north. The driver looked at her in amusement. “So many wanting to go to our village these days,” he said as Lois climbed into the cab.

“Oh?” she asked, smoothing down her skirt—she had switched to a more local wardrobe to make herself not as obvious.

“Two days ago, a boy comes to me in Arat—please, sir, take me to the north, I will pay! And then yesterday, two more arrive in our village—they did not ask for a ride from me, but they are staying! And now you! Are we to become a full city at last?” He laughed.

Lois smiled. “The two who arrived yesterday are my friends,” she explained. “They asked me to meet them there.”

“Ah, of course,” the driver said. “The pretty women always come in pairs—and the lady who came yesterday is a beauty beyond measure. Why, if I were a foolish man, I would swear she was Hippolyta herself, come back for vengeance!”

Lois suppressed her laughter. Glasses, veils, helmets, none of it could hide Diana.

“So what takes your friends to our village?” the driver asked.

“Doesn’t it have a name?” Lois asked.

“Sunib,” the driver said. “But no one uses it…no one comes until now.”

“One of them is a champion in the ke’la manji,” Lois said. “He wanted to see how people in Sataria live outside of Arat…and I’m a reporter following his progress.”

“Ah,” the driver said. “It is strange, that a ke’la manji champion would travel so far out of the way.”

“Damian Wayne is an unusual man,” Lois said.

“Do you believe he’d make a good King?”

“It’s not for me to say. I merely report…and I’m American.”

“Obviously.”

They fell silent. Lois watched the countryside—more of a wasteland than anything, dustier and more desolate than Arat had been, and there the dust had practically choked her by the minute. Out here, she was glad of the scarves the locals wore—without it, she knew she wouldn’t make it far.

They arrived at the village at sunset. Lois handed the driver a few coins and stepped down, heading down the street towards the beach. She could see Diana and Damian, working with the locals. She hesitated, wondering if she should go to them.

Diana looked up and waved to her. Lois smiled and walked over.

“We wondered when you would arrive,” Diana said.

Lois smiled at her wife. “Sorry,” she said. “Took a while to find a ride…do we have accommodations?”

“Jon has invited us to stay with him,” Diana said.

“He’s here?” Lois asked in surprise.

“I was as shocked as you,” Diana said. “But Damian is overjoyed…so I won’t question it.”

Lois nodded. “I take it we aren’t exactly staying at the Ritz?”

“We’ll manage.”

“Indoor plumbing at least?”

“No.”

“So…”

“Latrine in back.”

“And to wash?”

Diana grinned and gestured at the sea. “Take a fucking swim, babe,” she said.

Lois closed her eyes for a moment. “No point asking for WiFi?”

“None at all,” Diana said. “And there’s no cell service up here, either…there is a telephone in the common hall.”

“Phoning in stories,” Lois said. “Guess I really am roughing it…and how much would a call to America cost?”

“Bruce is paying for it.”

“That much?”

Diana gave her a hard glare. “Look around you, Lois,” she said. “These people have nothing but their fish and their homes. No one cares about them…they’re desperate for money, or food, or…anything really.”

Lois sighed. “I’m not trying to be difficult,” she said. “It’s just…culture shock.” She watched as Damian stepped over to the truck to have a word with the driver. “I suppose that’s why he’s here, though…to find a way to fix it.”

“Exactly,” Diana said. “So put that in your story.”

Damian came over to them, looking exhausted but happy. “Hello, Lane,” he said. “I will be going to the next town tomorrow…do you want anything?”

“A lot of things,” Lois said. “But nothing immediate…what are you going for?”

“I am still on a quest,” Damian said. “Also, I have offered to bring a number of items back to the village…almost everyone here is suffering at least one form of vitamin deficiency and I believe they could all benefit from a wider food selection…and Jon and I need another blanket or two.”

Lois shook her head. “Well, good luck,” she said. “How long are we staying?”

Damian raised his eyebrows. “As long as we are needed,” he said, before going back down to the beach.

*

Bruce barely looked up as the door opened. It was only when he heard the soft cough above him that he put his book aside.

Talia was standing over him, tablet in hand. “Do you know where our son is?” she demanded.

“Not a clue,” Bruce said. “Your father made it very clear that I’m not supposed to interfere with the contest and the best way to do that is to stay out of it as much as possible.”

“Well, have a look,” Talia snapped, shoving the tablet at him.

Bruce’s eyes flicked over the article. “Is that supposed to concern me?” he asked coolly, handing it back.

“Do you know what’s in the north?” Talia asked.

“From what I understand, not much,” Bruce said. “Scrublands, scattered villages, some fishing…probably not very comfortable, but not dangerous.”

“Exactly!” Talia said. “There’s nothing in the north! How is he supposed to complete the quest and win the hearts of the people if he’s up there playing fisherman?”

“He’s already won the hearts of Arat,” Bruce said. “And he’s competing to be King of all of Sataria…he needs to expand his horizons a little.”

“But a whole month up there? There aren’t even enough people to win over!”

Bruce sighed. “You really want him to win this, don’t you?”

“Don’t you?”

“Tell the truth, no,” Bruce said. “I didn’t want him to even come…but he insisted. All I can do is sit back and trust Ms. Prince to watch his back. And I think he’s safer being as far away from Arat as possible.”

Talia tsked at him. “Come on, Bruce,” she said. “He should have been the heir to begin with! Aren’t you even a little bit invested in whether he wins?”

“Talia, what I’m invested in is making sure we all make it out of here alive. If Damian wins, fine, I’ll help him get through the transition as best as I can, but if he doesn’t…well, all we’ve done is lose a year hanging around here.”

She sighed. “I should have remembered,” she said. “There are no stakes for you…no matter what happens, you come out on top. You don’t care about Sataria, or me, or Tim…”

“What does Tim have to do with it?”

She looked at him like he was an idiot. “He has everything to do with it,” she snapped. “I know you took him in…don’t tell me he didn’t influence Damian’s decision to come!”

Ah. There it was. He’d finally gotten her to show her hand. Bruce hid his smirk quickly.

“Damian and Tim aren’t friends,” he said. “In fact, of all my children, they’re the ones who butt heads the most often. If Tim had told Damian to come, I can promise that Damian would have stayed in Gotham…I almost wish he had. Dami would be safe then.”

Talia blinked. “Tim didn’t send you?”

“No,” Bruce said. “He was momentarily interested in the politics, but I reminded him that he has no business getting involved again, and he agreed…somewhat reluctantly, but he did. He has entirely washed his hands of trying to fix this country, and is quite content running my foundation. Whatever actions Damian takes are his own, not Tim’s.”

Talia nodded slowly. “So the fact that the people love Damian…?”

Bruce shrugged. “I suppose he inherited your charm.”

She rolled her eyes. “Well, thank you, Bruce,” she said. “This has been a most productive meeting.”

“Schedule the next one in three months,” Bruce said. “I might have had enough alcohol to talk to you again by then.”

She flipped him off and left the room.

*

“Prince, I am taking Jon with me to the market today,” Damian called.

She raised her eyebrows as she pulled on her work gloves. “Are you sure that’s wise?” she asked.

“I have not seen any palace guards since we arrived here,” Damian said. “And after six weeks, I doubt any will show up…it is not like I am hiding my location.”

“All right,” Diana said. “What are you getting today?”

“I will be looking at linen,” Damian said. “And picking up more produce and bread for dinner.”

Diana smiled. “Feed your people well, Dami.”

“I am trying.” With that, Damian headed out.

Jon was waiting by the bike, his eyes nervous. “Are you sure this is safe?” he asked as Damian tossed Diana’s helmet over to him.

“I have never been in an accident,” Damian said. They climbed on and got settled, Jon keeping a death grip around Damian’s waist. Damian smiled and drove off, slower than he normally would.

The market was in a village some twenty miles away—not a long distance for Damian, but for the villagers, an eternity. The market itself wasn’t particularly good, but there was food besides fish at least, and a few other goods. Over the last six weeks, Damian had made himself a familiar sight there, spending more money than most of the people here would usually see. He had spoken to them, of course, gotten their requests for the new King, and was quickly becoming as popular here as he had been in Arat.

He parked near the edge of town and he and Jon walked into the market together, hand in hand. Several people called out a greeting to Damian, which he happily returned.

They wandered through the streets and stalls, picking out food for the communal pot, discussing what they would eat if only it was available up here.

“Perhaps you should get train lines set up,” Jon said. “Some sort of system to move resources more efficiently…not just the highway, something more efficient that won’t be stopped by any traffic.”

“Definitely,” Damian said, picking up three pounds of soy beans. “It is very difficult to make proper relik when no one sells goat up here.” He smiled. “I will have to bring some back from Arat when my quest is over.”

“You can’t expend all your resources on us,” Jon said. “There are other people in Sataria who need your help.”

“It seems that everyone in Sataria needs my help,” Damian said. “But I do not wish to be anywhere but where you are.”

Jon looked down, but Damian was sure he was smiling. “At least don’t spend your entire three months with us next time,” he said. “Go to the east…the west…see what they need as well. Then come back to me.”

“Or you could come along,” Damian said. “Come back to Arat with me…meet my family, stay at the palace with them…all of these quests would be so much easier if I could look forward to returning to you at the end of them.”

Jon turned away. “I can’t,” he said. “I…I want to, Dami…I would like to stay with you, forever…but…”

“Why not?” Damian asked. “You have no master…why not come with me?”

“I just can’t,” Jon said. “Please…don’t ruin what we have now. Let’s just enjoy today…and every day until you go back. And…and I will always be waiting here for you…whenever you want to visit.”

Damian wanted to protest. Wanted to beg, wanted to say that he would stay forever…but he knew that tone, so he didn’t argue as they walked down the street.

They stopped at a stall selling cloth. It was all dull and loosely woven. Damian looked it over and picked up a bolt of olive green. “What do you think of this?” he asked Jon.

Jon shrugged. “It’s fine.”

Damian smiled and paid the vendor.

*

Lois sat up on the beach, staring off into the distance. Damian and Diana were in the water, washing as much dirt off as they could, but Lois couldn’t bring herself to strip down with them.

Jon sat down next to her. “You’ve known Damian a long time,” he said.

“Five years,” she said. “Well…five years officially. I knew him by reputation before that.”

“And what is his reputation, back in Gotham?”

Lois thought carefully. “He’s known in the press for being standoffish,” she said. “His siblings have all the social grace and communication skills…but Dami’s young. Right now, I think he’s just transitioning into his adulthood…and it hasn’t been an easy transition.”

“I think he’s growing into it well,” Jon murmured, staring down into the water.

Lois had been very pointedly not looking in that direction, but she did steal a glance down now. She had to admit, Damian had grown in the last few months, gaining muscle from hauling fish that filled out his figure from his last growth-spurt. She suppressed a smile. “You should tell him to get a razor next time he goes to market,” she said.

“I don’t think so,” Jon said. “I think the beard is good on him…though I know they’ll make him cut it off when you return to Arat.”

“His father’s going to have conniptions,” Lois said. “The last time one of his brothers looked that scruffy, Bruce wouldn’t let him leave the house until Alfred had fixed it.”

“Shame,” Jon said. He tugged at his own hair, which had gotten significantly longer in the last three months. “It suits him.”

“If you say so,” Lois said.

Down in the water, Damian glanced up. “It seems that your wife is getting a bit less shy,” he said.

Diana rolled her eyes and twisted water out of her hair. “Still too shy to wash while we’re around,” she said. “If she had a car, she’d be up at the next village to use the showers at the hotel.”

“She is American,” Damian said. “And I cannot criticize…Jon is just as shy.”

“Hmm.” Diana hummed a bit. “I will wonder what he’s hiding behind that scarf.”

“I will not ask,” Damian said. “If he wanted me to know, he would tell me.”

“I worry,” Diana said.

They were quiet for a moment. Damian ducked under the water to rinse out his hair and reemerged, shaking his head like a dog.

“You sure you don’t want me to cut your hair before we go back?” Diana asked.

“I do not want to look like a poster child for the United States Army again,” Damian snapped. “Which is the only haircut you know how to do.”

“At least you’d look a little more respectable.”

Damian splashed water at her. Diana shrieked and moved back, splashing him back. Damian couldn’t help but laugh. Diana swam over and pushed him, knocking him back into the water. He reemerged a moment later and dragged her down as well.

“Should we go rescue them?” Jon asked from the beach.

“If you want to try and fight Diana, be my guest,” Lois said. “I’m not getting any closer to them until they put clothes on.”

Jon rolled his eyes. “Americans,” he muttered.

*

“They’re coming back today,” Dick said to Steph.

“Good,” she said. “I was starting to worry…he only has two days to come back with his cloth.”

“Apparently Diana had to drag him away,” Dick said. “He didn’t want to leave his boyfriend.”

Steph sighed. “He’s so young, Dick,” she said. “Is it really wise for him to be forming an attachment like this?”

“Ah, come on, Steph,” Dick said. “You remember being young and in love, don’t you? Being sixteen and having a girlfriend for the first time?”

“Yes,” Steph said. “And I remember it was awkward and confusing and not that fun…I wasn’t acting like it was true love or anything.”

“Maybe not,” Dick said. “But don’t tell him that…he’s happy. And…having attachments in Sataria can’t hurt. Falling in love with a Satari boy can only make the people love him more.”

“True,” Steph said. “I didn’t peg you as one to play politics, though.”

“I’ve been doing nothing else since we got here,” Dick said. “When I’m not running interference with Talia and Bruce, I’m out there schmoozing with all those lords to try and get Wayne Enterprises contracts out here…create jobs, boost the economy, all that shit.”

“Mm, same,” Steph said. “Though I already have most of the contracts in place…it’s just a matter of convincing all these assholes to renew them now that I’m in charge.”

“And of course this is all going to fall apart if Dami loses,” Dick said.

“Well,” Steph said. “We’d better hope that everything’s going according to plan…though when I was in the market yesterday, no one was talking about anything except him. I don’t think we need to worry about him winning the contest.”

“No,” Dick said. “We just need to worry about him wanting to.”

*

Damian arrived late in the afternoon and was greeted by both his parents the moment he stepped into the entrance hall.

Both of them stared at him in shock.

“Where have you been?” Talia demanded.

“Sunib,” Damian answered. “I believe that was reported in the papers.”

“And do they have scissors in Sunib?” Bruce asked.

“Not exactly,” Damian said.

“Upstairs,” both of them said together.

Damian sighed and let his parents hustle him up the stairs to the guest suite, Diana following with a smirk. They barely got inside before Bruce shoved Damian down in a chair.

“Alfred!” Bruce called. “Scissors and razor, if you please!”

“I am not shaving the beard,” Damian said. “It makes me look older.”

“It makes you look like a barbarian,” Talia said. “If you went before the King like that, he would disqualify you immediately!”

“Trim it, at least,” Bruce said. He whirled on Diana. “And where were you while he was growing all this?”

“I offered to cut it,” she said. “And Master Damian felt that my skill as a barber is lacking.” She reached up and undid her scarf, letting her hair down. “Besides, I would then have to trim my own hair and that seemed like more effort than it was worth.”

Damian would treasure the expressions on his parents’ faces for the rest of his life.

*

The square was more crowded than ever as Ra's stepped out on the balcony. He could already hear the people shouting, but he ignored it. It was the only way to stay sane around here.

He held up his hand and they fell silent, or as silent as half a million people could be. “My people,” he called. “The second quest of the ke’la manji has concluded! I call on you again to give your judgment!”

More shouting. Why could the people of Arat not be quiet for ten minutes? Ra's waited until they had died down.

“As you recall, the quest was to bring me back the finest cloth,” Ra's continued. “Slade Wilson, present your cloth.”

Slade stepped forward and bowed. Ra's gave him half a smile. If only they could do away with this silly contest and get on with it! How dare anyone challenge his judgment! Still, the law was the law and Ra's couldn’t argue with it. Not if he wanted to prevent a full-scale war, anyway.

“Your Majesty,” Slade said. “I traveled far to the west, to the most worthy townships I knew, and have brought you back this Egyptian cotton.” He made a gesture and his valet appeared. She knelt before Ra's and held out the cloth, a rich blue.

Ra's nodded. “Your entry is accepted,” he said and Slade and his girl stepped back. “Dusan al-Hashim, present your cloth.”

Dusan stepped forward and bowed. Ra's inclined his head. His nephew was a disgrace, but he was still at least worthy of this contest. Had he not been born defective, he would make a fine heir in his own right.

“Your Majesty,” Dusan said. “I scoured all of Arat, and I have brought you back this silk so tightly woven it will go through your ring without trouble.” He waved and his man stepped forward, presenting a bolt of deep red silk. Ra's ran a hand over it, slightly impressed.

“Your entry is accepted,” he said and Dusan and his man moved away. “Damian Wayne, present your cloth.”

Damian stepped forward and bowed, defiance in his eyes. So like Tim...like Talia. The whelp should have remained in Gotham where he belonged and left this contest to his betters.

“Your Majesty,” Damian said. “I travelled to the north and saw the sea, and the people there, and I have brought you back the finest they have to offer.” He gestured and his valet appeared, a bolt of dull green linen in her hands. She knelt down, but like Damian had months before, she kept her eyes on Ra's’s face instead of the ground where they belonged. She looked familiar, but Ra's tried not to pay too much mind to the servants.

The cloth she held was poor, loosely-woven, the type of cloth the peasants wore. Ra's glared. “What is the meaning of this?” he asked.

Damian raised an eyebrow. “You asked for the finest cloth,” he said. “In America, the word ‘fine’ is meant as a general positive—though it generally means…adequate. Not superb, simply…fine. And when I asked a dear friend to describe this cloth, that was the word he used…and thus, my cloth is the finest.”

Ra's glared at him, but could find no argument. Damn the boy! He could hear laughter from the people, a few scattered cheers. He could hardly disqualify the boy now unless he wanted a riot to break out.

“Your entry is accepted,” he gritted out. Damian smirked and he and the woman stepped away. Ra's turned to the crowd. “You have seen what the champions have presented,” he said, the words rehearsed and trite. “And now I call upon your judgment. Each of you was given three cards as you arrived. Raise the red for Slade Wilson, the green for Dusan al Ghul, and the blue for Damian Wayne.”

He watched as the cards were raised. The red and green were less this time, the blue overwhelming everything else. Ra's turned and glowered at Damian, who met his eye, smirking in defiance.

“Damian Wayne, you have won this task,” Ra's said. “Tomorrow, the third will be announced.” Ra's stomped inside, seething.

Slade caught up to him as soon as the door closed. “What are we to do?” he asked. “If he’d brought back two inches of unspun wool the people would still choose him!”

“I’m thinking,” Ra's snapped. “Tomorrow, I will give a task that he can’t possibly misinterpret…and when he sets out…well, you know what the rules allow.”

“If I can get past his valet,” Slade muttered. “She’s a real wildcat…the type of woman I would be glad to tame.”

“So tame her,” Ra's said. “If you can…there’s something familiar about her…I don’t suppose you’ve heard her name?”

“I think I heard the twerp call her Ms. Prince,” Slade said. “Diana Prince.”

Ra's froze. The cheek! The absolute cheek of her, to come back here as a servant! No wonder she dared look him in the eye.

“Kill her,” he said. “And Damian…I will be sending my guards into the city. We need to put down this silly rebellion once and for all.”

Slade grinned. “Yes, cousin.”


	6. Chapter 5

Diana wasn’t sure who she expected to knock on her door that night—well, honestly, she hadn’t expected anyone—but least of all Talia al Ghul.

“Your Highness,” Diana said, curtsying awkwardly as she opened the door. “How may I help you?”

“It’s Ms. Prince, isn’t it?” Talia asked. She was scrutinizing Diana very closely.

“Yes,” Diana said.

“You’re Damian’s assistant.”

“Yes…”

“Valet, bodyguard…”

“Your Highness, I am aware of my own job description,” Diana said. She would have felt worse about interrupting Talia, but…well, they were equals in reality, weren’t they?

Talia half-smiled. “Forgive me, Ms. Prince…I wanted to make sure.”

“Sure of what?”

“How long have you been in Damian’s service?”

“Five years.”

“And in that time, has anyone tried to harm him?”

“Once or twice,” Diana said cautiously. “Though more people have tried to kill me.”

“Well, here’s one more,” Talia said. “I overheard my father and Slade plotting to end this contest…and they have to get through you to get to Damian.”

Diana’s blood froze. Her own life…well, everyone in Sataria believed that Princess Diyanah was dead anyway. But Damian…Damian was their new hope. Their symbol.

“What must I do?”

“Nothing out of the ordinary,” Talia said. “But I wanted to warn you…be on your guard. I’ve arranged a car for you for the next quest…harder to get a shot at you or anything like that. I will try to persuade the King that this action is foolish, but you must be careful.”

Diana nodded. “Thank you, Your Highness,” she said. She hesitated, then removed her glasses. “I will be sure to save your son,” she said, standing up straight. “After all…he is my family as well.”

Talia blinked, then her eyes widened. She smiled and pressed a finger to her lips before slipping away.

*

Damian noticed the tension in the air from the moment he woke up the next morning. Diana was terse and grim, and Bruce seemed no better. Still, Damian dressed and had breakfast, wondering what the next task would be.

The square was as crowded as ever and Damian wondered how anyone could stand to be caught among that many people in this heat. He only hoped Ra's would hurry up—he was eager to get back on the road, travel a bit before going up to see Jon again. A month in the other areas, perhaps, before they would go back to the north. Even that sounded like too long, but Damian acknowledged that he couldn’t just dally away his quest time with his boyfriend.

He smiled a bit, thinking of stolen kisses in the dark, hard work on the beach, walks in the market. It would be nice to get back to that, while finding ways to twist his grandfather’s words. It wasn’t laziness—it was just politics.

Ra's finally stepped out and raised his hand for silence. “My people!” he called. “The third quest of the ke’la manji begins today. The task…” He paused. “Whoever brings me back the smallest dog will win.”

Damian grimaced. On the one hand, buying a dog would be wonderful. On the other hand, he wouldn’t leave any animal in Ra's’s care.

Plus this was very clearly meant as a quest he couldn’t misinterpret.

Damian sighed and went down to the courtyard. Diana was waiting next to a car Damian didn’t remember ordering, Lois already waiting in the back seat.

“What is this?” he asked.

“Your mother ordered it,” Diana said. “And I will not argue. In.”

Damian didn’t argue as he slid into the passenger seat and Diana started the car. “Where to first?” she asked.

“East,” Damian said. “The farmers…hopefully Kent’s boring lectures will endear me to them.”

Diana half-smiled and drove out.

“Why did my mother order a car?” Damian asked as they hit the dusty highway.

“Your grandfather is displeased,” Diana said. “And he and Wilson are plotting to kill you during the quest. She’s trying to persuade him otherwise, but I’m not taking any risks. This time, you stay with me at all times…you have a weapon, yes?”

“My knives,” Damian said.

“Good,” Diana said. “And I suggest we don’t return north until we’ve managed to shake him…I told Kara and Jason last night, they’ll be doing what they can to keep him occupied.”

“Still,” Damian said. “Best not to get Jon hurt, I suppose.” He was still unhappy. He didn’t want to be away from Jon for a second, let alone what could be months.

Lois looked up from her phone and leaned forward. “So, Damian,” she said. “Since we’re going to be here a while, would you do an interview?”

Damian huffed and rolled his eyes. Diana gave him a look and he turned around slightly.

“You have until we stop,” he said.

*

“Are you sure I can’t just shoot him?” Jason grumbled.

Kara gave him a hard look. “You heard the rules—journalists can’t interfere with the contest. And killing a champion definitely counts.”

“I’m not a journalist,” Jason pointed out. “And the rules say that the champions can kill each other…and I’m first and foremost Damian’s brother.”

“Relax,” Kara said. “Screwdriver.”

Jason handed it to her. “Doesn’t this count as interfering?” he asked. “I mean…you are slowing him down during a quest.”

“It’s a mild inconvenience,” Kara said. “And since he’s still in Arat, I’m going to say he’s not focusing on the quest yet…he’s more concerned with killing Damian.” She passed a few screws back to Jason. “Besides…I’m first and foremost your wife.”

Jason smiled and slid an arm around her. “And I’m so proud of you,” he said.

“Finished,” she hissed. “Let’s go before the innkeeper comes up.” They grabbed their tools and scampered.

“How long do you think that will hold him?” Jason asked.

“Long enough for Dami to get a long way away,” Kara said. “I’ve already told Lois not to broadcast his location this time…let’s just hope Clark can keep Dusan too busy to think about picking up the slack here.”

Jason grinned. “I’m sure he can,” he said. “And if he can’t, Conner’s already reset all his boobytraps. I doubt either one of them could traverse Arat right now without getting a face full of shenanigans.”

“Well…we know that.” They reached their room and locked the door. Kara pulled the doorknob to Wilson’s room out of her toolbox. “Think we should frame this?”

Jason took the doorknob and kissed it. “Definitely,” he said.

*

Talia found the King in his study, late in the evening. She smiled as she slipped into the room. Ra's barely glanced at her. “What is it, daughter?” he asked.

“I have noticed you are…displeased,” she said. “That you are less than thrilled that Damian has come so far in the ke’la manji.”

That got his attention. He set aside his papers and looked at her. “You know what I wanted,” he said. “I had an heir chosen…and your cousin chose to challenge me. And now I have your brat just one step away from winning the throne for good.”

“Is that such a bad thing?” Talia asked. “Oh, I know,” she continued as Ra's opened his mouth. “Slade is a good man, but…well, he is bull-headed. Arrogant. Impulsive…not good qualities for a King, are they?”

Ra's was silent, but he was clearly thinking things over.

“The purpose of choosing an heir is to ensure that your legacy will live on,” Talia continued. “Slade might do that…for a while. But he is grown…he has his own ideas about how to rule. Soon he will undo everything you have worked towards just to make a name for himself. But Damian…Damian is young. Persuadable…he has never ruled before. He will need guidance…and if we accept him now, we can guide him to be as great a King as you are.”

“I know what you’re doing,” Ra's said. “You’re looking to seize power of your own…as the mother of the young King, you will make yourself his chief advisor…practically the Queen.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Maybe I am,” she said. “But everyone around here is trying to grab power right now. Damian already has the love of the people…and we both know what happens when we try and hurt someone they like.”

Ra's nodded. “That is true.” He studied her carefully. “He and Timothy have been living in the same household…are you sure Damian is not a rebel?”

“He has American ideals,” Talia said. “And without a strong hand to guide him, he could inject those into Sataria. However, I do not believe Timothy has any hold on him whatsoever…and accusing him of being a rebel is only going to give us the same problems we had before.”

“If you’re certain…”

“I am.” Talia met his eye. “I am very certain.”

“All right,” Ra's said. “We will see how he fares in this quest…but if he continues to mock me in front of my people…”

“Well, I’m sure you’ll deal with it.” Talia smirked and left the room.

*

“Prince, I need to dictate a letter.”

Diana looked up. They had stopped in the middle of nowhere, where a friendly farmer had offered to let them stay in his spare room for the night for a steep price.

“I was under the impression you preferred to write your own correspondence,” Diana said, taking the paper and pen Damian was offering.

“I usually do,” Damian said. “But that is in English…I cannot write Satarian half so well.”

Diana caught on. “Are you writing to Jon?”

“Yes,” Damian said. “I do not wish for him to worry when we are later returning than expected.”

“Damian, I’m not sure he can even read Satarian.”

“He cannot,” Damian confirmed. “But it is more likely he will find someone who can read Satarian than one who can read English. Do not worry; there will not be anything compromising in it.”

Diana sighed and set up. “All right…but how will you get it to him?”

“We can catch the truck tomorrow,” Damian said. “He should be passing by here just before we are due to leave…and I am sure for the money for a week’s food supply, he will deliver it.”

“He will,” Lois said, not looking up from her laptop. “He’s a good man.”

Diana nodded. “Proceed.”

*

The truck stopped in the usual place, just in time. Jon barely looked up, just focused on dragging the nets up.

“Jon!”

He turned. The truck driver was waving towards him. Jon frowned under his scarf and walked over. “Yes?”

“Letter for you,” the driver said, passing over a sheet of white paper.

Jon took it, confused. Who would write to him? Well…that was obvious. Damian would, but Damian knew that he couldn’t read.

He tucked the letter into his vest pocket and returned to the beach. It was another hour later that the hauling and loading was done.

Kate was speaking to the driver as Jon approached. “Poor season,” she was saying. “We might have to stop shipments in the winter.”

“Let’s hope we have something else to sustain us,” the driver said. “Until then, Mr. Wayne paid me enough for the week in exchange for delivering that letter…if we’re thrifty, we might make it last a month.”

Kate nodded. “Do what you can,” she said. She turned and smiled at Jon. “Need help?”

“I…” Jon took the letter out. “I hope you can tell me what he said.”

She took it and unfolded it. “‘My dearest Jon,’” she began. “‘I fear that my return to your side has been delayed. My enemies are now making moves against my life, and I will not put our village in danger.’”

Jon’s breath hitched. Their village. Did that mean Damian considered Sunib home?

“‘Do not fear, my love, I do intend to return before my quest time is up. Ra's has asked for the smallest dog, and I hope I will find one he will not harm. Until I can be by your side, I will write to you as often as I can. Perhaps my letters will give you an opportunity to gain some education. And hello, Kate, I hope you will help in this endeavor.’”

Jon half-smiled. Maybe he could learn to read, at least a little bit.

“‘I hope all of you are safe and happy. I miss you every day, and I count down the seconds until I can escape those who would separate us and be by your side again. Love always, Damian Wayne.’” Kate smiled and handed the paper back to him. “He’s a good man…I’m happy for you.”

Jon folded the letter carefully. “He won’t come back forever,” he said. “I know…one day, he won’t want me anymore.”

“Oh, Jon, of course he will,” she said. “You heard what he wrote…he’s in love with you. I could see that the moment he saw you again. He will come back…he won’t just abandon you.”

“He hasn’t seen it yet,” Jon said quietly. “I…I couldn’t show him when he was here…I know…when he sees…”

“He loves you,” Kate insisted. “He won’t…that won’t change it.”

“But it will change any plans you’re making,” Jon snapped. “I’m sorry, Kate, but he’s not going to take me to the palace as I am…heklin is bad enough. Dishonored heklin…I might as well not exist.”

Kate frowned, but said nothing more as Jon turned and walked home.

Jon slipped into his hut and closed the door before removing his scarf and gloves. He ran a hand over his face, forcing back a sob before he sat down on the floor with a scrap of bread. Not much, but it was all he could sneak out of the common hall, unwilling to eat with the other villagers; most of them knew, but he couldn’t stand the pitying stares. He ate it slowly, savoring this small morsel before he got up and went to the little nest of blankets on the floor.

He knew he could go back to the bed now that Prince and Lane weren’t there, but he found that he preferred the bundle he and Damian had shared. It wasn’t as warm without him, but if Jon lay very still and breathed very deep, he could remember how it felt to lie in his beloved’s arms, how it felt to kiss him late at night when they couldn’t see each other, how warm and safe he felt with Damian beside him.

He pulled the letter out of his vest and looked at it. The words on it were hardly more than a bunch of squiggles to his eyes. He skimmed to the bottom of the page, where he knew Damian’s name was. He studied the letters carefully, committing them to memory, before he went back to the rest of the letter, matching the symbols as he found them. They looked slightly different from the name; Prince must have written most of the letter for Damian.

It didn’t matter. Damian had written to him, and said that he loved him. Jon smiled slightly as he refolded the letter and slipped it under the bundle of cloth that served as a pillow. He curled up in his little nest, feeling a little bit warmer for the knowledge that Damian would return.

*

The farmlands were lush, well-tended. The people in them were happier than the people of the north, less discontented than those in Arat. Out here, Damian was little more than a curiosity. The farmers were polite, especially when Damian threw money around, but they weren’t as enamored with him as most of the others he had encountered.

Clearly Tim’s influence didn’t extend out here.

It only got worse the further they went. By the time they reached the last town before Libya, Damian was feeling outright hostility from the people they met.

“Heklin,” one man spat at Damian as he and Diana were walking through a market, looking at wares listlessly.

“Go back to America!” a woman called. “We don’t need you here, changing our way of life!”

Damian paused and turned to her. “What makes you think I will do so?” he asked.

She scowled at him. “You don’t understand us,” she said. “I’ve heard about your policies, your promises. Well, we’re happy with what we have. We’re grateful to the King for what he gives us…and you would come in and take it away.”

“I…” Damian was confused. “I would take nothing from you…I only wish to help Sataria become more modern and efficient.”

“We’re not good enough for the American heklin!” another person called. “He thinks he knows better than we do what we need!”

“I…I do not know,” Damian said. “I would like to hear what you want…help you where I can…”

“You cannot help!” someone said. “We are happy, and we don’t need the Americans coming in to overturn our culture!”

“I…”

Before Damian could speak, someone threw a tomato at him. Diana’s sword was out immediately as she turned to face the hostile crowd.

Damian laid a hand on her arm. “Leave it,” he said. “We clearly are not wanted here.”

“Damn right!” the first man called. “They may have bought your lies in Arat, but we haven’t! The King treats us well, and we will not stand for a false heir on the throne!”

Damian turned, struggling to keep his temper. “Thank you for your feedback,” he said. “I will be sure to let him know.” He turned and walked back to the car. “Drive, Prince.”

“Master Damian…”

“It was inevitable that not everyone would be happy with me,” he said. “I am surprised so many are, actually...I know that I am not really Satari.”

Diana glared. “You are Satari,” she said. “You love this country, and its people. You are as worthy to be King as anyone else…and certainly more than your cousins. Remember that most of the people do love you…they do want you as their leader.”

“They want Drake as their leader,” Damian corrected. “I am just a substitute that the people of Arat will tolerate until they can have him.”

Diana sighed but couldn’t argue.

Lois caught up to them. “Why are they so hostile out here?” she asked. “I tried asking and they told me to fuck off.”

“They’re prosperous here,” Diana said. “They’ve benefitted from Ra's’s rule, and they don’t want a change…I suspect they’ve been told that Damian would take their wealth to help make up for the deficiencies elsewhere.”

“Makes sense,” Lois said. “It’s that way back home, isn’t it?”

“Yes,” Damian said. “People are short-sighted…if they are happy, and well-fed, and not actively being oppressed, they do not care for the woes of others…the people there have everything they need. They do not care about the rest of Sataria.”

Diana nodded, her eyes sad. “Where to?” she asked.

Damian shrugged. “Anywhere,” he said.

*

The next six weeks were among the most miserable Damian had ever known.

They travelled through the eastern side of Sataria, and were met with varying degrees of hostility. Damian tried not to let it bother him—he had known the east was the wealthiest side of Sataria outside Arat, but it was a bit disheartening.

They skirted around most towns, trying to avoid both major uproars and anyone Wilson might have sent after them. The only good thing about this part of Sataria was that Diana was able to get cell reception and keep up with what was happening in Arat.

“There are stirrings of discontent against you and Tim,” Diana said one evening in an out-of-the-way roadside inn. “Apparently Dusan and Wilson are doing everything they can to counteract all of Tim’s work…so far it’s not too bad, but they are wondering where you are.”

Damian sighed. It was inevitable, but he had hoped to have secured the throne before the people turned restless.

“Is there anything we can do to bring them back?” Lois asked.

“Not until we get back to the city,” Diana said. “Tim’s doing what he can, but...well, unless something spectacular happens, we’re going to have to coast a bit.”

“I do not like this,” Damian said. “I know that people are sheep, but…”

“Let’s focus on the quest,” Lois said. “Once we’re done with that, we can get back to campaigning.”

Damian nodded. “We will return to Sunib tomorrow,” he declared. “We are making no progress here; we might as well go to friendlier territory to regroup.”

Diana and Lois exchanged a knowing look. “And Jon is the pick-me-up you need to carry on?” Diana teased.

Damian scowled. “Good night, sweet princess,” he snapped.

*

“Report,” Tim said as soon as Conner came in.

“Not good,” Conner said. “The trick with the cloth got them laughing, but Dusan’s been giving the media a few things we’d rather not have them give out…nothing too terrible, Damian doesn’t have a mark on his record, but enough that people are talking.”

Cass groaned. “Should’ve known it was too good to be true,” she muttered. “So what’s our plan?”

“What exactly is Dusan saying?” Tim asked.

“The usual…why should an American come in and take over, what about our culture, is the bastard worthy of the throne…also that he’s Talia’s puppet and she’s looking to grab power…”

“Well, she is,” Tim said.

“But Damian’s not helping her,” Conner continued. “But the rumors are enough…oh, and there’s also the one that says Bruce is the one using Damian to further his business interests and he’s going to turn Sataria into a country of drones for Wayne Enterprises…the really juicy ones say that Bruce and Talia are in it together and have rekindled their romantic relationship, but I’m pretty sure Dusan just put that one out there to annoy Clark.”

“Alas that there are no libel laws in Sataria,” Tim said.

“Can I kick his ass?” Cass asked.

“Not yet,” Conner said. “Lonnie’s out doing some damage control, and I’ve set up another dozen boobytraps for tomorrow…Wilson’s left the city, headed west.”

“Good,” Tim said. “Let’s hope he stays there…and start planning something for Damian to say when he gets back.”

“You know he can’t give speeches,” Cass said.

“Well, he’d better learn pretty damn quick,” Tim said.

*

Damian breathed much easier the moment he spotted Sunib out the window. Just being this close to Jon made the anxiety in his chest lessen.

It was nearing sundown, and the village was at the beach as usual. Diana smiled as she parked, grabbing her gloves out of her bag before getting out of the car. Damian followed, smiling at the familiarity of it.

Several people waved as they approached, though no one spoke. Damian found Jon and moved in at his side, pulling the net in. He couldn’t see it, but he was sure Jon was smiling.

It wasn’t until the fish were all hauled in that they were able to properly greet each other. Damian noticed the other villagers moving away from them, most of them smirking. He tsked and took Jon’s hand, leading him down the beach.

“We’d given you up for dead,” Jon teased.

“I wish,” Damian muttered. “That would have been preferable.”

Jon’s eyes were concerned. “The people of the east weren’t impressed?”

“The people of the east are complacent,” Damian said. “They do not suffer hardship as you do in Sunib, and they do not wish for change. They do not care for anyone, just their own crops and families. And I cannot help those who do not want my help.”

“Why are people like that?” Jon asked. “Why do we have a drive to hurt each other? Why aren’t all men like you?”

Damian laughed. “What? Anti-social, angry and impulsive?”

“Kind,” Jon said. “You want to help everyone…and maybe you’re not good with all people, but you’ve charmed us here…you’ve won the people of Arat. Whatever your deficiencies, you have shown them what could be…you’ve helped us.”

Damian looked down. “Do you think it is enough?” he asked. “Do you think…in spite of the fact that they do not want me…I could still be their King? Jon, when…when they were shouting at me…telling me to go home…I thought…if I were the King…I could cut off their resources…let them know how the rest of Sataria lives. Give them a taste of misery…but…but that would make me no better than my grandfather…it might make me worse. He does not deprive you of resources out of spite…greed, yes. Indifference, certainly. But not revenge.”

Jon squeezed his hand. “You wouldn’t,” he said, his voice certain. “Just the fact that you’ve thought it through…that shows you’re better than that.”

“I suppose,” Damian said. “And I would not, but…it was tempting. I wanted to punish them…wanted to show them…”

“Dami,” Jon said firmly. “They don’t matter…they aren’t in Arat, they don’t have a vote. And no King is supported by all his people…you’ll be lucky to keep the support you already have through your entire reign.”

Damian hesitated. “Jon…come with me.” He guided Jon through the huts to just outside the village, a place where they wouldn’t be overheard. Luckily the villagers seemed to want to leave them alone.

Damian took a deep breath. “I am not trying to become King,” he said.

Jon blinked. “But…the ke’la manji…”

“I am a rebel…Prince Yurem has been fueling my entire campaign. We are hoping that if I become the heir to the throne, I can abolish the monarchy and allow the rebels to form their democracy.”

Jon blinked. Damian couldn’t tell what he was thinking, in the darkness behind the scarf.

Finally, he spoke. “Good,” Jon said. “The King has never done anything for me…a new form of government can’t do any worse.”

Damian smiled. “This is an absolute secret,” he said. “If anyone finds out that Drake…Prince Yurem…is behind my popularity…well, I do not know what Ra's would do, but…”

“I know,” Jon said. “I won’t tell…but you’ll still help us? You’ll still set up the trading lines and the laws about abuse and education and…everything?”

“Yes, of course,” Damian said. “I have been passing on all of the work that needs to be done to those who will form the new government…they wish to help, as I do.”

Jon nodded. “And…if you do win, and they form their new government…what will you do then?”

Damian sighed. “I do not know,” he admitted. “Before, I thought I would simply turn Sataria over to Drake and return to Gotham…go back to my old life…college, boyfriends, girlfriends, vet school, games…but now…I do not think I want to.”

“Why not?” Jon asked.

“I cannot,” Damian said. “After all this…after you…how could I go back to how I was? How can I return to a normal life when I have been…well, not quite a prince, but close enough? How could I go back to the little flings I had back there when I have you?”

Jon looked down. “You should go back,” he said. “Go back and live your life…forget about us.”

“How can I?” Damian asked. “Jon…”

“It’s just…it would be best for you.”

Damian moved closer and wound his arm around Jon. “I will not go without you,” he said. “If you want to come to Gotham with me, I will arrange it. If not, I will stay here. Once the ke’la manji is over…I never want to leave you again.”

“You must,” Jon said. “Please, Dami…”

“Jon…”

“I want to, but…I belong here, and you belong in Gotham.”

“I belong with you.”

Jon leaned his head on Damian’s shoulder. “I wish I could follow,” he said. “But…”

“You can.” Damian pulled Jon closer in his arms. “I will find a way…no matter what it takes, I am not leaving without you.”

Jon curled closer into Damian’s side. They stayed there a minute before Jon spoke again. “What happens if you don’t win the ke’la manji?”

Damian sighed. “I suspect there will be a war,” he said. “The rebels will not be held back forever…if Wilson or Dusan becomes King, they will revolt. Then there will be a lot of fighting…a lot of death.” He looked at Jon. “If that happens, we will both go back to Gotham. I will not leave you here to live alone…and I certainly will not leave you to die.”

“You won’t fight with them?”

“I am no soldier…I know how to defend myself, but I am not prepared for a civil war…and neither are you.”

“No,” Jon agreed. “I’m not.” He was quiet again. “Will your father accept me?”

“Of course,” Damian said. “They will both accept you.”

“Maybe…” Jon hesitated. “Maybe it can be like that…until then…we should go home.”

Damian nodded and they headed back to the house together.

*

The next few weeks passed peacefully, hard work and long walks, occasional runs to the next market. Damian would have been content staying forever if the quest hadn’t nagged at him.

A week before they were due to go back, though, Kate came running into the common hall. “Flina’s having her puppies,” she announced. “And…I don’t think she’s doing well.”

Damian was on his feet at once. Flina, the little mongrel who caught rats that the entire village had co-claim on, was one of the sweetest dogs he’d ever met. “Where?” he asked.

“This way,” Kate called. Damian gestured to Diana, who followed, Jon and Lois just behind her.

Flina was lying in an alley, whimpering. Damian knelt and picked her up at once to carry her inside. “Prince, water,” he ordered. “Lane, towels. Jon, with me.” They scurried to obey. Damian set Flina down in a corner and petted her gently. “Easy, girl,” he murmured. “We will get you through this.”

The first puppy was born just as Lois and Diana returned. Damian picked it up and passed it to Lois, who started rubbing heat into the tiny body before passing it back down. Then the second, a third, four, five…

It was hours later that the last puppy was born, tiny, almost still, small enough to fit in the palm of Damian’s hand. He rubbed life into it, holding it close before returning it to Flina. Twelve puppies in all, none of them terribly big.

Damian looked up at his friends with a tired smile. “She made it,” he said. “For the moment.”

“Perhaps not long,” Diana said, looking at the exhausted mother. “But long enough.”

Damian stroked Flina’s ears. “We should look for a real vet for her,” he said.

“You won’t find one out here,” Kate said from the doorway. She came in, eyes sad. “Pity…she’s a good rat catcher.” She sighed. “And I don’t know what we’ll do with twelve puppies…we can’t feed that many more mouths, even if they do catch rats.”

“I will take them,” Damian said. “All of them…Flina, her puppies…back to Arat, and find them care and homes. And once she is better, I will bring her back.”

Kate shrugged. “We would lose her anyway,” she said. “Taking her to Arat for a little while makes no difference.”

“You should sleep,” Jon said. “It’s late…you’ve been working.”

Damian shook his head. “I will stay with her,” he said. “Prince, in the morning I need you to fetch milk and a bottle and something to carry them in.”

She nodded. “Yes, Mr. Wayne.” She patted his shoulder and turned to go to bed.

Jon settled down next to Damian, curled into his side. “You did well,” he said.

“I just hope it was enough.”

“At least you now have a dog to present to His Majesty,” Jon said. “The runt of the litter is bound to be smaller than anything your opponents found.”

Damian frowned. “I would not give the King any dog.”

“Perhaps he won’t keep it,” Jon said. “If he doesn’t want it, you can take it back.”

“I suppose,” Damian said. He picked up the runt, where it had been pushed out of the way by the others. “I only hope he lives that long.”

*

Leaving Jon again so soon was difficult, even with thirteen dogs to look after to soothe the sting. Jon was quiet as Damian said goodbye, promising to return.

“I know you will return,” Jon said. “And I will be waiting.” His scarf kept Damian from knowing, but his eyes were smiling. “Good luck, my love, and don’t stay away too long this time.”

“I will do my best,” Damian promised.

Flina and her puppies had been put into a large basket, easy to keep on the backseat. Damian had been bottle feeding half the puppies for the last few days, and they were all getting stronger, though the runt was still the tiniest thing Damian had ever held. Flina was doing better as well, though Damian knew he still needed to deliver her to a vet the moment they could find one.

The drive back to Arat was quiet. As they approached, though, Diana turned. “You realize I don’t know where there’s a vet anywhere in this city?”

Damian sighed. He hadn’t really thought about that. “Send a message to Drake,” he finally said. “He would know if anyone does.”

“Better yet,” Lois said. “Just take them all except the one you’re giving to Ra's to him. I somehow doubt twelve puppies and a sickly mother would be welcome in the palace very long.”

“Fair point,” Damian said. “Prince?”

“We’ll need to ditch the car and change our scarves,” she said. “In case we’re being followed.”

Damian nodded. They parked in a small alleyway and hastily changed clothes, Diana watching for guards the entire time. Once ready, Damian grabbed the basket and followed Diana through a dizzying series of streets—he could tell she was taking a roundabout route to avoid detection.

But at last, they reached a tiny, shabby inn, out of the way of almost everything and with an air of secrecy about it. Diana took the basket and Damian took the runt out, wrapping the tiny puppy in the loose fabric of his scarf. “You two head back,” Diana said. “I’ll join you later.”

Damian nodded and he and Lois slipped away. Diana turned and entered the inn; she was a familiar enough presence that no one even blinked.

She went up the stairs and knocked in code at the door. There was an answering knock and it opened. She slipped in and removed her veil to smile at her brother.

“The others?” she asked.

“All out stirring up rumors,” Tim said. “What do you need?”

“Your silly brother brought these back.” Diana put the basket on the bed. Tim looked down at the dogs inside. “They need a vet as soon as you can get one.”

Tim pulled out her phone and fired off a message. “Lonnie will fetch one who can keep his mouth shut,” he said. “Where’s Damian?”

“He and Lois are taking the smallest back to the palace for judgment…Damian knows how to bottle-feed so it should be all right.”

One of the puppies had been shoved away from the mother and shuffled over to the edge of the basket. Tim reached down and picked it up. “He’s a bit too soft-hearted when it comes to animals,” he said.

“Would you rather they all be left in Sunib and drowned in the ocean?” Diana asked. “Because that was the other option.”

Tim sighed. “No, I suppose not,” he said. “You’d better go back…make sure no one’s attempted to kill Damian on the way.”

Diana nodded and slipped out of the room. Tim sat down next to the basket, absently petting the puppy in his arms.

The door opened and Cass and Conner slipped in. Cass locked the door and Conner turned to Tim.

“Rumor mill is flourishing,” he said. “We managed to drop the story about Damian fighting the muggers in New Arat…what have you got there?”

Tim raised an eyebrow and carried the puppy over to Conner, dumping it into his arms. “It’s that baby you asked for.”

Conner stared for a moment.

“Congratulations,” Cass said drily. “It’s a dog.”

*

“My people!” Ra's called from the balcony.

The noise subsided and Damian waited impatiently. The puppy in his arms was squirming and whimpering and Damian desperately wanted to get inside and take care of him.

“The third task of the ke’la manji has ended! I once again call upon you to give judgment.”

A roar went up from the crowd. Damian was getting very bored of listening to the exact same speech every three months.

“The task was to bring back the smallest dog. Slade Wilson, step forward.”

Wilson stepped up, holding a very shaky chihuahua with no clear idea how it was supposed to be held. He knelt and held the dog out. “Your Majesty, I travelled the land, with great difficulty…”

Damian had to suppress a smirk; Jason had already relayed the entire story through a series of text messages.

“And this is the smallest dog I have found.”

Ra's nodded. “Your entry is accepted. Dusan al Ghul, present your dog.”

Dusan stepped up, a silent Papillon in his hands. He held the dog away from him, as though it disgusted him. “Your Majesty, I searched high and low, and this is the smallest I found still worthy of your house.”

Ra's nodded. “Your entry is accepted. Damian Wayne, present your dog.”

Damian stepped up and knelt, keeping his dog close to him as he looked up at his grandfather. “I travelled long and hard, to the parts of this country I had not seen. And after all my trials, this was the smallest dog I found.” He extended his hands, where the puppy still fit between them. “He is delicate and in need of care, but he is certainly the smallest.”

Ra's stared for a moment, clearly trying to find fault, but none was coming. He finally nodded. “Your entry is accepted,” he said.

Damian stood and moved back, wrapping the puppy back in his vest to keep him warm. Already he feared that he had been too long without care. He glanced at the dogs his opponents held. Purebred, perfect, and likely to die too soon. The mutt he held may not make it long, but if he could survive these first months, he would grow much stronger than the other two.

“You have seen what the champions have presented,” Ra's called. “Raise the red for Slade Wilson, the green for Dusan al Ghul, and the blue for Damian Wayne.”

Damian looked out, the puppy whining in his vest. The blue still overwhelmed everything else, the red and green competing for those who didn’t want him. Damian breathed a sigh of relief. That was the competition finished—no matter what the fourth quest was, he had already won.

He smiled as he bowed his head to his people. His people. Really and truly his, at least until Ra's died and Tim’s government could take over. Perhaps he could go north again, stay with Jon until the old man kicked it…

“The last quest begins at once,” Ra's said and Damian’s heart dropped. Why would they have another quest? Why not just end this charade at once?

“This quest is the most important,” Ra's continued. “And as such, whoever wins this one will be the heir—regardless of past performance.”

There was a shout of protest, people calling for Damian to be King, shouting that Ra's was breaking the rules of ke’la manji…

Ra's raised his hand and silence fell, though it was an angry, electric silence, the type of silence that came before a hurricane. Damian clutched his puppy closer, suddenly afraid. Who was he, really? A seventeen-year-old boy who believed the word of a King who was never to be trusted. An American bastard here to be a puppet for a rebellion that could so easily lose.

“A King is nothing without someone to rule by his side,” Ra's said. “And we must be sure that whoever that is is worthy before any choices are made. So…” He turned to the contestants. “For the final task, whoever marries and brings back the most beautiful consort will be my heir.” He looked at Damian with a cruel smile before sweeping back inside.


	7. Chapter 6

Damian had barely gotten down the stairs when he heard Bruce shouting. He sighed and hurried toward the source of the sound, which was one of the larger meeting rooms of the palace.

Ra's was standing inside, waiting patiently. Talia stood next to him, as did several palace guards. On the other side of the room, Bruce was in mid-tirade, Dick and Steph next to him. Diana bristled at Damian’s back—she hadn’t said a word since the new task had been announced but Damian could feel the anger radiating off of her.

“FORCING HIM TO FIND SOMEONE TO MARRY IN THREE MONTHS, WHEN HE’S STILL A CHILD--!”

“By Satari law, he is a man,” Ra's said calmly. “By participating in the contest, he confirmed that. It is too late to protest that fact.”

“He’s seventeen! I won’t allow it!”

“That will certainly make it difficult for him to complete the quest.” Ra's was smirking. “Of course, if he wishes to withdraw from the ke’la manji, he is free to leave when he wishes.” His eyes moved to Damian. “Well, Damian Wayne? Will you yield?”

Damian straightened his shoulders. “No,” he said. “I will yield to no one.” He looked at Bruce. “This is my choice, Father…and I will see this through.”

Bruce glared at him. “No,” he said, his voice firm. “Pack your bags, we’re going home.”

“Father—”

“You cannot force him to leave,” Ra's said. “After all…that would be interfering in the government process of a foreign nation…I’ve allowed it so far, but if you continue this little tantrum, I will be forced to take action.”

Bruce turned back to Ra's. “You have no right—”

“I have every right,” Ra's said. “And I say that if Damian wants the throne, he will have to marry…and I hope he makes better choices than his mother…at least choices that involve fewer grubby orphans.”

Bruce glared for half a second more before his fist connected with Ra's’s eye.

“BRUCE!” Dick and Steph both shouted.

Ra's stumbled back, shocked, as every guard around him drew their swords. Diana drew hers as well and was between Bruce and the guards before Damian could even process what had happened.

Bruce stood still, glaring at Ra's. “One more word,” he growled.

“Weapons down.” Talia ordered, her voice defying argument. “All of you.”

Slowly, the swords all lowered, but none were sheathed. Ra's straightened up, glaring back at Bruce. “You’re fortunate,” he said. “That the American government cares about you…were you a lesser man, you would be executed at once.”

“But I’m not,” Bruce said. “You wouldn’t dare.”

“No,” Ra's said. “You will be confined to your quarters until the ke’la manji is over. All of you…except Damian.”

“He is allowed a servant,” Diana said.

“Yes,” Ra's said. “A servant…which you are not, Diyanah Drake.”

Diana glared for a minute before straightening up. “So you would lock me away the way you did my brother?”

“I will do as I please,” Ra's said. “Damian, if you wish to complete your quest, you will leave the palace and begin now…feel free to take one of my servants to replace your imposter.”

Damian looked at his father for a moment before he raised his chin. “I will complete this quest alone,” he declared. “Goodbye, Father…I am sorry.”

Bruce nodded. “So am I.”

Damian turned to Diana and handed the still-crying puppy to her. “Take care of him,” he said, and walked away.

*

Damian waited until he was well away from the palace and into Arat before he pulled out his phone and sent one word to the family group text: EMERGENCY.

Less than a minute later, he had the name of a pub he was to go to. He turned his bike toward it and drove as quickly as he could. He only hoped that Tim had a contingency for this—he usually had a plan for anything.

Conner and Jason were waiting, both with scarves obscuring their faces. Damian knew them, though—how could he not know two of the only friendly faces he was likely to find in Arat right now?

He sat down across from them, the shock starting to wear off. He wasn’t alone, exactly, but so much had just happened he didn’t even know where to start.

“We’re not staying long,” Conner said in an undertone. “We just needed you somewhere crowded so we could shake the guards…how many, Jason?”

“I count three,” Jason said. “Trying to look unobtrusive, but they’ve all got a stick up their ass a mile long. And they’ve still got their eyes on us.”

“Can you get them off our backs?” Conner asked.

“Of course,” Jason said. “But you want to give me the cliff notes first?”

“I have to get married, Father punched the King in the face, everyone but me is under house arrest,” Damian said. The numbness was starting to wear off into panic. “I need Drake…I have an idea, but…I will need his help.”

“Right,” Jason said. “If I’m very lucky, I’ll just be arrested as well…and if not, it’s a good day to die. Let’s see…Conner, are there any loyalists in this bar?”

Conner glanced around and pointed. “There,” he said. “That one’s firmly in favor of Wilson.”

“Good.” Jason stood up and walked over. “I hear you support the King,” he said loudly.

The man turned. “So what if I do?” he asked.

“The King is a weak, foolish old man who should have been deposed years ago!”

“You speak treason!”

“Perhaps I do…but it’s good your candidate is losing.”

The man stood up and leveled a punch. Jason ducked and hit back as several other men stood up. Several people Damian knew were rebels rose as well, and before he could do more than open his mouth, a full-fledged fight had broken out, chaos spreading through the bar.

Conner grabbed his hand. “Come on,” he said. “The guards are distracted.” He pulled Damian up and through the melee, to a back door. They slipped out into the alley and Conner pulled Damian along, up fire escapes, across roofs, through winding streets and alleys and several buildings until they reached the inn. Conner pulled Damian up the stairs and quickly into a room.

Tim and Cass were waiting, along with a man Damian didn’t know. Damian never thought he would be so happy to see them, but just seeing them there, still with him, was enough to ease the tension in his stomach just a little. He looked at them for a long moment before everything hit him and he had to blink very quickly to keep from crying.

They knew. Of course they did; they had been his family since he was seven years old. Cass moved to him and pulled him into a hug. Damian clung to her, finally safe with his sister.

“What happened?” Tim asked. “I heard Ra's’s latest scheme…” His hands were clenched and Damian knew the only thing keeping them from going through the wall was the need to keep a low profile.

“I refused to withdraw,” Damian said. “I do have a plan for this…I will need your help, though. But…Father lost his temper and punched him in the face.”

There was silence for a moment before the man in the corner spoke. “Shit,” he said. “That’s…not good.”

“No,” Damian said. “Everyone there is confined to quarters…including Prince, so I am alone. And Ra's knows who she is.”

“Double shit,” the man said.

“Damian, my chief of staff Lonnie Machin,” Tim said absently.

Damian nodded.

“What’s your plan?” Conner asked.

Damian took a deep breath. “There is a boy,” he said. “A boy I love above all others who I would be happy to marry. I will go to the north and bring him back to Arat…but I will need you to convince the people to love him as much as they love me.”

“Do you doubt his beauty?” Cass asked. “That was all Ra's asked for…not love, or wisdom, just beauty.”

“I do not doubt it for a moment,” Damian said. “But beauty is relative…they must love him first. Please…I do not want anyone else.”

“Should be easy enough,” Conner said. “Once the hubbub dies down from the fight…” His phone pinged and he picked it up, smirking. “…and once they’ve stopped talking about Bruce. The story’s spreading outside the palace...if he wasn’t American, I think the people would put him on the throne just for that.”

“By tomorrow morning, the story will be that Damian himself threw the punch,” Lonnie said. “Get those journalists in here and we can embellish everything perfectly.”

“Do not,” Damian said. “I will not take credit for a black eye I did not give…not when it was deserved that much.”

Before anyone could speak, there was a ruckus from below. Conner frowned and moved to the window, peeking out of the curtain. He went white and turned back. “Soldiers,” he said. “They’ve surrounded us.”

There was a shout from below. Conner hesitated, then opened the window as Cass and Tim hastily put their veils on.

“Attention!” one of the soldiers was calling. “This inn is being seized by authority of the crown! All occupants are to exit at once and wait to be questioned!”

Tim’s eyes were wide. Cass was clutching his hand, and Lonnie looked defeated.

“Go,” Tim said to Damian. “Conner will show you the way out…go to the north. Fetch your love…if we’re still alive when you return, we’ll do what we can…if not…”

Damian nodded. “Drake…”

“Dami…whatever happens…I’m sorry.” Tim’s eyes were honest, full of tears, but his voice was steady. “I’m sorry I put you through this…that I didn’t think about what you’d go through for my cause…”

“We will talk later,” Damian said.

“You can’t be sure…”

“I will find a way,” Damian said. He bit his lip and looked Tim straight in the eyes. “You were not as terrible a brother as I always said,” he finally admitted. “And for what it is worth…I still believe in Sataria.”

“All occupants are to exit!”

“Come on.” Conner pulled Damian out of the room and down a set of back stairs to the cellar. “There’s a door on the other side,” he said. “Once the soldiers are gone, go out that way.”

Damian nodded and slipped into the shadows. Conner hurried away, leaving him alone in the darkness.

*

Tim stood in the room for several minutes, lost in thought. The call for them to exit came a third time.

“Tim…” Cass said.

“Lonnie,” Tim said. “Go down and tell the soldiers to send their leader up…that they will find what they want here.”

Lonnie blinked. “But…Your Highness…”

“It’s me they want,” Tim said. “Someone must have said something…let something slip.” He reached up and removed the veil. “It’s over…there’s no need for anyone else to die…not as long as Damian is free.” He looked at his friend, his servant, his most loyal ally through the years. “Go, Lonnie…I’ll be here.”

Lonnie nodded. “It has been an honor to serve you, Your Highness,” he said before he turned and went down the stairs.

Tim picked up his sword, gazing at it as though in a dream. Cass went to him. “You can’t mean this.”

“We both knew how this would end, Cass,” he said. “It was a gamble…one that we both knew I would lose. At some point, I have to fold…and it looks like it’s now.”

Cass nodded. “You will not be alone,” she said.

“You can still escape,” Tim said. “Go with Damian…help him with his quest…”

“He doesn’t need my help,” she said. “You do.” She took her brother’s hand. “All together or none at all.”

Tim nodded. His heart was pounding but his eyes were dry. He turned as the door opened, ready to face whatever was coming.

*

It didn’t take long for the noise from above to subside. Damian waited several more minutes before he slipped out of the door to the outside.

It took him over an hour to find his way back to the pub where he’d left his bike. As soon as he had it back, he turned and rode out of Arat as quickly as he could. The second he hit the open highway, he went as fast as he dared. Nothing was going to stop him from getting back to Sunib now.

Night was falling by the time Damian reached the village. The villagers had already finished their work for the day, the last few stragglers heading home from the communal hall. Damian’s panic subsided the moment he stepped into the village. Jon was here, and with Jon at his side, anything was possible.

He walked down the lane, breathing in the air of the sea as he approached Jon’s home. His heart pounded a bit—what if Jon rejected him? What if he refused to return to Arat? What if…?

Well. Alfred always said what-if was never worth having. Damian took a deep breath and knocked on the door.

It took a minute before it opened. Jon looked confused, but his eyes cleared the moment he saw Damian. “Damian,” he said. “I didn’t expect you back this soon.”

Damian swallowed. “I had to come back,” he said. “Because what I need for my last quest can only be found here.”

Jon looked puzzled. “Something that can only be found in Sunib?” he said. “But…then why aren’t the other two here as well?”

Damian stared at Jon for a long moment. “Walk with me,” he said, offering his hand. Jon took it, his gloves softened from the months of work. They wandered down the beach hand in hand, silent as Damian considered how best to approach this.

By the edge of the Mediterranean, Damian turned. “The final quest is to marry and return with the most beautiful consort,” Damian said.

“I see,” Jon said, looking down. There were tears in his eyes and it was several minutes before he spoke again. “So…I won’t see you again, will I?”

“Of course you will,” Damian said. “That is why I am here…to ask you to marry me...to take you back to Arat to stay by my side.”

Jon’s eyes squeezed shut. “I can’t,” he said. “The King wants the most beautiful consort…and no matter how much you love me…I’m not that.”

“I do not care what he thinks,” Damian said. “He wishes me to marry and return with a consort, and I will not have anyone else.”

“You don’t know what you’re asking,” Jon said, turning away from him. “Damian…”

“Jon, please,” Damian begged. “Why can you not come with me? Why do you continue to refuse to accept that I love you and only you?”

“It’s…Dami, I…”

“Do you love me?”

“Of course I do!” Jon turned to glare at him. “It’s because I love you that I refuse! You have greatness in front of you…one step from the throne. There are women everywhere who would happily accept you…and men as well, if you prefer. I don’t want you to throw it all away on me.”

“I am not throwing anything away.”

“Aren’t you?” Jon pulled away and under the light of the setting sun, he removed the black gloves that had covered his hands for months. Damian stared at Jon’s hands—riddled red and creased with burn scars, as they had always been, but these were more severe…

Slowly, Jon reached up and untied the scarf that had hidden his face since Damian had found him in Sunib. The cloth fell away and Damian’s eyes went wide in horror.

The lower half of Jon’s face was as scarred as his hands, the color only slightly faded from the time that had passed. The skin was dry, creases crossing over almost every inch, distorting his nose and twisting his mouth downward, preventing it from ever fully showing that beautiful gap-toothed smile Damian loved so much.

“This is what Zod did to me,” Jon whispered. “When he found out about us…he threw acid in my face. I sacrificed my hands to save my eyes…but…it’s a mark of dishonor…one I can’t wash away. And…and it’s also why I can’t return with you…why I can’t marry you, even though I want nothing else.”

Damian stared for a moment, guilt and sadness washing over him. For months, Jon had hidden this, had never let on that it had happened…the dry kisses in the dark, the shy turn of the head, refusing to eat meals or bathe with them…

But it was still Jon. This was still the man Damian loved, more than anything else in the world. Slowly, Damian stepped forward and raised a hand to Jon’s mutilated cheek.

“Jon,” he said. “This is what I did to you…this is a mark of my dishonor, not yours…and I am so, so sorry.”

Jon’s eyes closed, but he didn’t move away.

“But this does not change anything,” Damian said. “I love you…I will always love you. I never want to be in love with anyone else…I want to marry you, and spend my life with you…I want to introduce you to my family, and I want them to love you as much as I do. I want to take you back to Arat and present you as my consort, and I want to love you enough that…even if I cannot erase these scars…I can make you not be ashamed of them.” He leaned forward and pressed a kiss to Jon’s lips, truly exploring the changed texture of them for the first time.

They kissed for a moment before Jon opened his eyes and pulled back slowly. “Damian…I can’t win this quest for you.”

Damian half-smiled. “Let me worry about that,” he said. “All I need right now is an answer.”

Jon half-smiled back and for a moment, Damian could see the shadow of his old smile there. “You haven’t asked me properly,” he said.

Damian’s smile widened. “You are right,” he said. He ran down the beach and found two sufficiently sized sticks and carried them back, passing one to Jon. “Si’la!”

Jon raised his stick to meet Damian’s. “Roj et’ni.”

They danced on the beach, sticks serving as swords. It wasn’t a competition, or a game. This was an expression of love, and trust, a show of strength for a new spouse, a brief meeting of two souls.

With his siblings, si’la roj was a silly modern dance, unskilled and too fast. In the palace, it was a tango, a power play, with the undercurrent of fire.

This was a waltz, smooth and graceful and loving. Jon was clearly not very skilled, but Damian knew every move like they had rehearsed a thousand times, knew every step to take to prevent harm, knew every time he needed to take Jon’s hand and hold onto it just a bit too long.

After several minutes of beautiful, smooth dance, Jon spun and landed on one knee. “I yield,” he said. “My si’la roj will be fought again, with a new partner at my side.”

Damian’s smile was full force, and Jon’s matched. In spite of the scars, it only made Damian happier as he pulled Jon to his feet and into his arms. They kissed, the tide coming in to lap at their ankles. Damian lifted Jon by the waist, spinning him around as they kissed again, and again, clutching at each other.

But finally, Damian pulled back. “Home?” he asked, a bit breathless.

Jon nodded. “Yes…home…to our fire and bed.”

Damian grinned and shifted Jon to carry him bridal style back to the house. Jon laughed, clutching his arms around Damian’s neck and burying his face in Damian’s shoulder. They slipped into the house and fell into the bed, still laughing together.

*

Talia swept into the inn, every inch the princess. It was a shield—no one would dare stop her like this.

Lonnie Machin led her up the stairs, his face the carefully neutral mask he had worn through his time at the palace. Talia had been shocked when he was the one to come down and say he would take her to his master. She knew who his master was…it was certainly unexpected.

Sure enough, when they reached the very last room of the inn, Timothy Drake was standing behind the door, sword in hand, Cassandra Cain at his side.

“Timothy,” Talia said. “I didn’t expect you…Bruce is a very good liar, he said you hadn’t come.”

“Bruce is a very bad liar,” Tim said. “He doesn’t know I’m here.”

They stared at each other for a long minute before Tim continued. “Well?” he asked.

“Well what?” Talia answered.

“You’ve got what you want…the rebel prince, the man your father’s been hunting for the last decade.” Tim’s sword was lowered, but Talia knew that his skill could have only improved since they last met. “Don’t we have a schedule for this? One o’clock riot, two o’clock arrests, three o’clock torture, four o’clock trial, five o’clock execution, six o’clock dinner and you’re daddy’s little girl again? Let’s get on with it.”

“Tim…”

“I know you, Talia…anything it takes for you to get ahead.” He threw his sword to the ground. “Well, here I am…all that’s left to decide is whether I’m going to be beheaded or hanged. Either way…please don’t make my family watch it.”

Talia sighed. “I’m not here for you,” she snapped. “None of this is about you, Tim.”

He blinked. “But…”

“I don’t give a damn about your silly little rebellion. We all know you’re going to win…really, my only choice is whether I’m going to get guillotined or exiled.” She leveled her most queenly glare at him. “Right now, what I’m worried about is my son and whether he’s going to come back to the palace alive…and how he’s going to win a quest where he has to get married without Bruce agreeing to it.”

“That is going to be difficult,” Cass said. “I heard he wasn’t best pleased by the assignment.”

“No,” Talia said. “He wasn’t…something my father was no doubt counting on when he came up with this. He knows Damian can’t get married without Bruce’s approval…no matter how pretty his bride is.”

“And since Ra's refused to acknowledge Damian, it has to be Bruce’s decision,” Tim said.

“Couldn’t Clark…?” Cass began.

“He isn’t Damian’s father, his approval won’t count in Ra's’ eyes,” Tim said.

“No, but he might convince Bruce to at least consider the idea,” Cass said.

“If he can contact him,” Talia said. “Father confiscated their phones…the only way they’re going to be able to communicate is either through messengers or if he goes to the palace himself…and somehow, I doubt Father would be too happy with a journalist hanging around them.”

“Damian won’t be happy,” Tim muttered. “He’s already gone to fetch his boyfriend…and I doubt anything anyone says is going to change his mind about going through with it.”

“Is he a nice boy, at least?” Talia asked.

“Don’t know,” Tim said. “We haven’t met him…he lives in the north. But that isn’t the real issue, is it?”

“No,” Talia said. “If this quest would wait another six months, Damian would be eighteen and Bruce couldn’t raise any more objections. As it is…”

“We’re just going to have to convince him,” Cass said.

“Until he comes back, we can’t do much of anything,” Lonnie said from the doorway. He gave Talia a perfunctory and very disrespectful bow, which she chose to ignore. “So if Her Highness would care to remove the soldiers from outside, I think everyone would be more comfortable while we plan our PR campaign to get Arat to accept whoever Damian brings back.”

Talia rolled her eyes. “I’ll do that,” she said. “Contact me when Damian returns so I can meet his intended…hopefully we can come up with some reason for Bruce to accept him.” She nodded to Tim and swept out of the inn.

*

Clark should have expected something like this. He knew Bruce was impulsive and had a terrible temper. He really should have known that he would get himself in trouble.

It had never been hard to love Bruce, or his kids, but right now, Clark was wondering if he might have been better off on the farm. It was only for a moment, though. He knew that even now, he was doing much better.

He should have been doing his job, interviewing Dusan, but he couldn’t be bothered, too busy waiting for news himself. So when there was a knock on his door, he leapt to answer.

There was a tall, beautiful woman of middle years on the other side, dressed in palace finery. It took Clark a moment to recognize her. “Princess Talia,” he said. “What brings you here?”

“Are you Clark Kent-Wayne?”

“I am.”

“Good. I need your help.”

“With what?”

“Damian, and Bruce.”

“I don’t see how…”

“Bruce won’t let the marriage happen…he might listen to you.”

“I can’t get in to him…I’ve tried, but…”

“Leave that to me.” Talia sighed a bit. “I just…I want Damian to be happy.”

“He…” Clark felt very wrong-footed. This wasn’t how he imagined meeting his husband’s ex at all. “Your Highness, I know your son…our son. He’s good, and he will be happy. I promise.”

“You’ve been so good to him,” Talia said.

“I haven’t really done anything.”

“You’ve done more than I could, and I am grateful. So please…do one more thing. For our son. For our love.”

He nodded. “I’ll do my best…what’s the plan?”

“I’ve sent you an address…meet us there tomorrow. Hopefully Damian will be back by then.”

“All right.” Clark stared at her for a long moment, unsure what he could even say.

She stared back at him. “You’re good for him,” she said.

“I’m sure you were too.”

“Not at all,” Talia said. “He always deserved better.”

“What, trade a princess for a farmboy?”

“I think I’ve found that being a princess isn’t the best thing,” she said. “So yes…it is better.”

*

Kara was not afraid.

Sure, she was alone with Slade Wilson, but they were in the middle of a fairly crowded street and she doubted he would attempt anything with so many witnesses.

Then again, maybe he would.

“So, Mr. Wilson,” Kara said, half-jogging to keep up with him. “You’ve been assigned to marry someone beautiful in three months…how are you going to decide who’s most worthy?”

Wilson smirked at her. “True beauty is always evident, Mrs. Todd,” he said. “I know the most beautiful women in the world the moment I see them.”

“And what would you call true beauty?”

“Well,” Wilson said with a lecherous leer. “If you weren’t already married, I would ask you for your hand at once…of course, your husband is currently imprisoned for treason and disturbing the peace…and I can easily arrange for you to be a widow before my time is up.”

Kara felt a chill run through her. “I think not,” she said.

“At least give it some thought,” Wilson said. “You are the…well, the third-most beautiful woman in Sataria, but Princess Diyanah is already married and her wife isn’t as easy to get rid of as your husband, and Princess Talia would kill me for even asking her to go against her son. You could be the queen…rule beside the most powerful man in the country…”

“I’m really not interested,” Kara said. “And if you hurt Jason…”

“I would do no such thing,” Wilson said. “I would merely give the order. And you’re in no position to bargain, Mrs. Todd…or should I start calling you Kara?” He stepped forward, too close for her liking.

Kara’s vision went red and without hesitation, she looked up and spit in Wilson’s eye.

Wilson blinked before wiping his hand over his eye. Kara could see the anger in his face as he raised his hand to strike her.

Before he could, though, there was a flicker of movement from the side and Clark was there. He caught Wilson’s hand easily and threw a punch back, knocking him away.

“Leave her,” Clark growled.

Wilson looked slightly less certain now that there were two hundred pounds between him and Kara. He glared for a moment before he turned and walked away.

Clark turned to Kara, who was scowling. “I could have handled it,” she said, reverting back to English in the stress of the moment.

“I know,” he said. “But if you’d hit him back, he woulda taken it as a challenge t’…tame you or whatever.”

She shuddered. “Were you following me?”

“With Jason in trouble…again…I figgered it was called fer.”

“What about Dusan?”

Clark shrugged. “He’s borin’,” he said. “An’ all anyone in Gotham cares ‘bout is Damian…speakin’a whom, I jist got a text from him…he’s back in Arat an’ he wants t’introduce us t’his fiancé.”

“Fiancé?” Kara repeated.

Clark nodded. “I was as surprised as y’are…but I’m at least gonna meet the boy before I git angry ‘bout it.”

“Yes…I heard about Bruce.” She glanced at him. “Are you okay?”

“Could’ve been worse,” Clark said. “And you? Y’okay with Jason bein’ on trial in a month?”

“I’ll survive,” she said. “If nothing else, I know you won’t give consent for me to marry Slade Wilson, no matter how much he pushes.”

Clark nodded. “Damn right,” he said. “Now c’mon…we’re meetin’ ‘em all at headquarters t’make a plan.”

Kara gave him a puzzled look, but followed him through the streets of Arat, wondering what would come next.

*

Jon was terrified as they rode back into Arat.

He was well used to going places on the back of a motorcycle by now, and the journey itself was exhilarating. Damian was fond of high speeds and risks, and after a life spent scrounging in shadows, it was freeing. He was going back to the city, engaged to a prince—a high step up for the bastard orphan without a penny to his name.

But as they approached, Jon began to feel fear that grew the further they got. What if Zod saw him with Damian? What if the King disallowed their marriage? What if Damian’s family took one look at his face and told him to get out, that he wasn’t good enough for their Dami, that he deserved to die in the street where he belonged…

Damian went down, far into the lower quarters of Arat, to an inn not much different from the one Zod owned. Jon felt a shudder pass through him. It wasn’t the same inn, but it was close enough for the memories to resurface. The scars across his face and back all seared with phantom pain and his grip around Damian tightened as they parked.

Damian took off his helmet and smiled. “Come on,” he said. “They are waiting.” He took Jon’s hand and guided him inside and up the stairs. Damian knocked three times at a certain door, which knocked back once before it opened.

The room was small and quite crowded. Jon followed Damian inside, hoping that no one would mind that he was still wearing his scarf. He wasn’t sure what their reaction to the scars would be.

Damian closed the door and turned to the assembly. He almost smiled and nodded. “Et’na dami,” he said.

“Et’na dami, Damian,” said a beautiful dark-haired woman seated near the door. Her eyes were just like Damian’s and her dress was much finer than any Jon had ever seen. “Is this your lovely intended?”

Damian bowed. “Mother, this is Jon,” he said. “Jon, my mother, Princess Talia al Ghul.”

She stood and swept a curtsey. “I am pleased to meet you, Jon…Jon who?”

Jon swallowed and bowed. “I have no name, Your Highness…I am heklin.”

She blinked. “Damian…”

“Later,” Damian said. “Jon, my family…well, some of them.” He took Jon’s hand and led him around the room, introducing people. “My stepfather, Clark Kent-Wayne…my sister-in-law, Kara Danvers-Todd…my friends Conner Luthor and Lonnie Machin…and my siblings Cassandra Cain-Wayne and Timothy Drake-Wayne…and of course you know Ms. Lane-Prince.”

Jon nodded to each, feeling a bit tongue-tied. These were Damian’s people, and they all greeted him like he was meant to be there…like they had already accepted him. Damian led him over to where two chairs had been set up and they sat down.

Talia al Ghul stood up. “All right,” she said. “Damian, you’ve missed a few things…basically, I’m in charge of this campaign now.”

Damian raised his eyebrows. “Why should I trust you with it?”

“Well, you can either trust me to fix things with Bruce and get you the support you need from Arat, or I can call a full force of soldiers to arrest all of you right now,” Talia said. “I know your brother has been writing his farewell speech for the last decade and I’m quite eager to hear it.”

“Hope you’ve carved three hours out of your life,” Tim said. “Though I do have the Cliff’s Notes version in case Ra's is impatient.”

Damian tsked. “Fine. You are in charge. So what do we do?”

“Well, first let’s see what we’re working with,” Talia said. “We have to convince Arat that Jon here is the most beautiful consort in the set.” She looked at him expectantly.

Damian nodded and squeezed his hand. Jon took a deep breath and reached up to untie the scarf.

As it fell away, he heard a few gasps from around the room. Jon squeezed his eyes shut, not wanting to see their looks of horror and pity.

“Damian…” Talia said.

Damian took Jon’s hand again. “I have made my choice, Mother. I will have no other…so if you are in charge, you will make it work.”

There was silence for a minute and Jon opened his eyes. Everyone was trying to look like they weren’t staring at the scars. It was worse than if they had been openly gawking. Jon sighed impatiently. “It’s part of me,” he snapped. “Either look at it or don’t, but don’t try and act like it’s not there.” His eyes turned to Talia, who was the only person in the room actually looking at him, her expression neutral. “I love your son, Your Highness…I don’t know why he chose me, but I have accepted him, and if I can, I will be happy to marry him.”

Talia nodded slowly. “Well,” she said. “Then we’re going to have to make it work.” She stepped over and studied him. “A shame…if not for the scars, I think you could win easily.”

“Reconstructive surgery?” Clark suggested.

“No time,” Tim said. “And we’d have to get him to America or Europe to get a good surgeon…and if we take him out of the country, Ra's will use that as an excuse to disqualify Damian. The quest items must be found in Sataria…blurred line, but enough for him.”

“It’s not just the scars,” Talia said. “You being heklin isn’t going to do you any favors…I take it you have no master, either?”

Jon shook his head. “I’m part of no house,” he said. “I have no name to sign…even if I knew how to sign it.”

Talia sighed. “This is going to be harder than I thought.”

Kara was looking at Jon closely. “Who was your father?” she asked.

Jon shrugged. “An American,” he said. “His name was Jon, too, but that’s all I know.”

Kara slowly smiled. “Are you sure it was his name?” she asked. “Not his father’s name?”

“I mean…that’s what my mother said.” Jon was confused. Why did it matter?

“She could have misremembered,” Kara said. Her eyes turned to Clark. “Blue eyes.”

Clark’s expression cleared in understanding. “Fair skin, for a Satari boy.”

“Seventeen years…not too long, is it?”

“Technically, no…service trip?”

“Well, Jews don’t do missions, so I guess…Habitat for Humanity, maybe?”

“Peace Corps,” Jon supplied.

“Works for me,” Kara said. “And you were very young and wild.”

“Easily misled, more like,” Clark said. “Didn’t know any better.”

“Exactly…and having a father show up to claim him…”

“We’ve got no real proof.”

“You don’t need proof,” Talia said. “You just need to claim him…accept him into your house.”

Clark hesitated. “I…I mean, I should probably ask Bruce before I just adopt a kid.”

Talia rolled her eyes. “Bruce Wayne does not have the right to complain about people just adopting orphans out of the blue.”

There was a general bark of laughter around the room.

Clark sighed. “What do I do?”

“Lay your hands on the child and say you accept him into your family,” Talia said. “It’s what you would have done, even if it’s seventeen years too late.”

Clark nodded and stepped over. He placed his hands on Jon’s head. “Jon…Kent…I accept you into my household.”

Jon looked up, a look of wonder on his face. Clark smiled at him. “Heklin no longer,” he said.

Damian stood up and embraced Clark. “Thank you,” he said. “Now…I suppose Father is the next problem.”

“Leave that to me,” Talia said. “Drake, Luthor, Machin, interview the boy. Figure out the best strategy to sell him to the people…maybe keep him indoors until you have something solid. Kent, Danvers, Lane, put together the best articles you can…no photographs yet.”

Everyone glared at her, but Talia didn’t notice as she swept out of the room. Tim sighed and shook his head. “Always the same with her,” he said. “All right, Jon…tell us about yourself.”

*

Bruce was bored.

A week locked in his quarters with no contact to the outside world and he was ready to punch Ra's al Ghul again just to get out of here, even if it was to the hangman’s noose. It didn’t help that he was stuck in the same suite as Dick and Steph, both of whom were as bored as he was and had taken to increasingly stupid ways of entertaining themselves, along with a very pissed off Diana and a puppy that was in need of constant attention.

He would have preferred an execution.

Just as he was contemplating letting Dick and Steph be deported back to Gotham so he could get some goddamned peace and quiet around here, the door opened and Talia swept in.

Bruce groaned and knocked back the last of his whiskey. “What do you want?” he snapped.

“I want you to stop being an ass and think for five seconds,” she snapped back.

“What’s there to think about?” he asked.

“Damian,” she said. “Our son, who’s been doing everything he can to win this contest without your support, and who’s now going to be forced to lose it because you reacted without actually putting thought into it.”

“I told you, Talia…I didn’t want him to compete to begin with. He’s had so much pressure put on him over the last year…far too much for someone his age. I’m not going to add to it by having him make such a huge commitment at seventeen.”

“Even if it’s what he wants?”

Bruce blinked. “I…he doesn’t…”

“If you had actually talked to him instead of simply ordering him to withdraw, he might have told you,” she said. “I just met his fiancé, and he’s a lovely boy. It wasn’t a long meeting, but I could see…they love each other.”

“Damian’s too young to know what love is…and what fiancé?”

Talia looked puzzled. “Didn’t you know?” she asked. “I was told they’ve been seeing each other for months…his name is Jon, if that helps.”

Bruce huffed. “No one told me,” he said. “I didn’t even know…”

“Of course you didn’t,” Talia said. “You’ve been so worried about the competition that you didn’t pause to find out what was actually happening in his life.”

“But…it’s different, isn’t it?” Bruce asked. “I mean…seeing a boy for…how long?”

“Almost nine months,” she said.

Bruce closed his eyes. “Seeing someone for nine months isn’t the same thing as marriage,” he said. “I mean…they’re young. They’re holding hands and giggling and doing all that silly stuff…they aren’t ready for marriage and…everything that comes with it.”

Talia looked at him like he was a complete idiot. “They aren’t children,” she said. “I think they both know what comes with marriage.”

Bruce decided not to think about that too hard. “Seventeen is still so young…”

“I was eighteen when I married you, and I had only known you for three months.”

“And look how well that turned out…your teenage rebellion is one thing. If Damian really loves this boy…”

“If Damian really loves him, they’ll figure it out,” Talia said. “And…no one says they have to stay married forever. If they get older and it doesn’t work, well…by then they’ll either be comfortably ruling Sataria or be safely home in Gotham. Either way, they’ll be able to work out what to do. Until then…”

“Until then, I’m just supposed to give my consent so Damian can throw away his future for the possibility he’ll be King.” Bruce shook his head. “I’m sorry, Talia, but I can’t do that.”

“At least meet Jon,” she said. “You can’t reject the marriage out of hand without so much as talking to the boy…you’re lucky Satari marriage customs don’t allow for elopements as it is…don’t make them go through what we did.”

Bruce sighed and looked at her. Sixteen years, and it still hung there. “Do you think it could have worked?” he asked. “If Ra's hadn’t called you back, if I hadn’t taken Jason in without asking you…could we have held onto something?”

She looked down. “I don’t know,” she said. “I…even with Jason and my father…I don’t think I’d have left if I hadn’t already fallen out of love with you…well…we were too different, weren’t we? You wanted to save the world…I wanted to rule it.”

“That hasn’t changed.”

“No,” she said. “But the one thing we both agree on—we both love Damian. We both want him to be happy. So please…at least consider it. Even if he doesn’t win the ke’la manji…and while his chosen consort is sweet, he’s not exactly a looker…he wants to marry Jon. And he can’t…not without your support.”

Bruce sighed. “I’ll meet him,” he said. “If you’ll arrange it.”

She almost smiled. “Thank you.” She turned and swept out of the room.

Bruce stared after her for a minute before calling for Alfred and another drink.

Alfred came in, giving Bruce a very unimpressed look. Bruce huffed out a breath. “What?” he snapped.

“I wonder if you might consider Princess Talia’s words more carefully,” Alfred said.

“So you think I should let Damian get married?” Bruce asked.

“I didn’t say that.” Alfred raised an eyebrow. “But Princess Talia is correct…you were hardly older when you married her.”

“Why do you think I disapprove so much?” Bruce asked. “I know what it is to rush into these things…I know what it’s like to get married too young.”

“True,” Alfred said. “But Master Damian isn’t you. He has the right to make his own decisions and his own mistakes…even if you don’t like it.”

Bruce sighed. “I know,” he said. “I just…I wanted so badly to protect him…”

“It’s too late for that,” Alfred said. “He’s a grown man…he doesn’t need your protection anymore.”

“When did that happen?” Bruce asked.

Alfred half-smiled. “A question I ask every day, sir.”

*

“You’re not okay.”

Tim looked up from where he’d been staring into space for the last ten minutes, petting one of the dogs Damian had brought home. Conner was looking at him with concern.

“Not okay about what?” Tim asked.

“Everything, but more specifically Damian.” Conner sat down on the bed next to him. Now that Talia had taken the inn, they had been able to spread their allies out a bit, which gave everyone a bit more breathing room, but Conner still stayed as close to Tim as he could. “It’s reminding you of…then, isn’t it?”

Tim sighed. “I know it isn’t about me,” he said. “But it feels like part of the reason Ra's chose this quest was to strike at me…knowing I would be…disturbed by it.”

“You’re not the only one,” Conner said. “Heck, maybe it was part of his plan…a sure-fire way to draw the rebellion out to protest.”

“Maybe,” Tim said. “But…well, it’s different for Damian, isn’t it? He’s seventeen, not fourteen…maybe not really an adult, but he isn’t a child like I was. He has someone he truly loves and wants to marry…and no one will force him. He could have taken Bruce’s offer and gone home…whatever happens now is his choice.”

Conner was quiet for a long minute. Finally, he took Tim’s hand. “I don’t regret any of it.”

Tim huffed out a laugh. “What, you aren’t sorry that your father dragged you across the world to try and force you into a marriage neither of us wanted and ended up costing both of us our homes and families?”

“Not for one second,” Conner said. “I mean…yeah, I’m kind of a wanted criminal here, but in New Arat, I’m a legend…a folk hero. And sure, I no longer speak to my biological father, but I have a new family in Gotham, one I can see when I want…and I never needed him to begin with. And…neither of us wanted the marriage then…we were too young, we were terrified and you weren’t going to give into Ra's’ demands without a fight.”

Tim half-smiled. “You weren’t the most repulsive of my suitors,” he said.

“Good to know,” Conner said. “I hate Ra's al Ghul for a lot of things…what he’s done to this country, what he did to you…but…I am grateful that we met. I’m really glad that I have a best friend.”

Tim looked down and nudged Conner’s shoulder with his own. “Would you do it all again now?” he asked.

“In a heartbeat,” Conner said. “Though now…since we’re both adults, since I know you…I might try a little bit harder at whatever task you set.”

Tim raised his eyebrows. “Are you trying to say you’re in love with me?”

“Oh, God, no,” Conner said quickly. “No, I don’t…I know you don’t want any of that. But…I’m saying I wouldn’t necessarily be against marrying you.”

“Well, then,” Tim said. “Take back Sataria and I’ll consider it.”

*

Damian followed his mother through the palace, guiding Jon by the hand. A few people glanced their way, but no one said anything. Damian had no doubt that reports were already being carried back to Ra's that Damian was bringing someone into the palace to see Bruce.

Clark was with them, moving behind Damian like he was just there as a reporter. Talia never looked back once, just marched to the suite where Bruce had been trapped for the last several days.

They slipped in, not bothering to knock. Bruce was waiting, looking exhausted, though he visibly relaxed the moment he saw Clark. They moved together and embraced.

“Are you alright?” Clark murmured.

“I’ve been through worse,” Bruce said. He turned and hugged Damian as well. “Are you okay?”

“I am fine,” Damian said. “Father, this is my fiancé, Jon Kent.”

Bruce’s eyebrows hit his hairline and he looked at Clark. “Excuse me?”

“Long story,” Clark said. “But to sum up, I accepted him into my house…and I hope you will as well.”

Bruce sighed and looked at Jon. “Well…I’m pleased to meet you, Jon Kent,” he said.

Jon looked up. “It’s an honor, Mr. Wayne,” he said.

“What’s with…?” Bruce gestured at the scarf.

“It’s…I was burned,” Jon said. He took the scarf off. “I hope it doesn’t make you hesitate.”

Bruce looked at him, eyes steady. “Do you love him?” he asked.

“I do,” Jon said. “I know we’re young, but…I do.” He turned and smiled at Damian. “Your son is the kindest, most generous and noblest man I have ever met. From the moment we met…he has always been so good to me. And I wish to be good to him in return.”

Bruce looked at Damian. “And you?”

“I love him, Father,” Damian said. “You may think I am too young to know what love is, but I think I do know…Jon is the sweetest and most helpful person I have met on my journey. I do not want anything else in life.” He looked up at Bruce with wide green eyes. “Please, Father…let me marry him. I do not believe it is the mistake you do…and if it is, I will accept the consequences of it.”

Bruce nodded once and turned to Clark. They had one of their silent eye-conversations for a minute before Bruce nodded again. “Mr. Kent, on behalf of my son, I would ask for your son’s hand.” The words sounded rehearsed and slightly mocking.

Clark was obviously trying not to laugh. “And what does your son offer mine?” he asked, having clearly rehearsed this as well.

“A home,” Bruce said. “A family…financial stability…and all the love he could ever want.”

Clark nodded. “A generous offer,” he said. “And what do you ask in return?”

“Nothing,” Bruce said. “My son’s happiness is enough…and Jon makes him happier than I’ve seen in years.”

“Well, then,” Clark said. “We’d better get them married as quickly as possible.”

“Lucky for you, I’m well prepared,” Talia said, producing a piece of paper. “Marriage license,” she said by way of explanation.

“So…what do we have to do?” Clark asked.

“Stand there,” Talia said. She turned to Damian and Jon. “Damian Wayne, do you pledge yourself to this man?”

“I do,” Damian said.

“Jon Kent, do you pledge yourself to this man?”

“I do,” Jon said.

“Clark Kent, do you accept Damian Wayne into your family?”

“I do.”

“Bruce Wayne, do you accept Jon Kent into your family?”

“I do.”

“Sign this.” Talia shoved the license and a pen at them. They all signed the paper and Talia smiled. “See? Easy.”

Damian pulled Jon closer and kissed him. They stayed there for a minute before Bruce coughed. “Boys, please.”

They broke apart and laughed. Joy was bubbling in Damian’s chest, joy he only ever felt with Jon, only stronger, overwhelming him. He had Jon, there and bound to him. He hugged Jon…his husband…and he didn’t ever want to let go of him. He could feel tears on his neck where Jon was hugging him back, and he knew he was crying as well.

“Damian, I suggest you two go somewhere more private,” Talia said, cutting through the haze. “Tomorrow morning, we can work out what to do about the beauty contest…start introducing Jon to your people, drumming up support.”

Damian nodded and took Jon’s hand to guide him out of the palace and back to the inn.

As soon as they were gone, Bruce turned back to Clark. “So…long story?”

“I’ll stay the night,” Clark said. “And explain in the morning.”

Talia coughed. “I believe that’s my cue to leave.”

“Yes,” Bruce and Clark said together.

*

“Dami?”

“Hm?” Damian opened his eyes and smiled at Jon, who was lying on his chest. They were back at the inn, on their wedding night, both feeling very warm and happy.

“As nice as this is…it doesn’t exactly solve the major problem, does it?”

Damian sighed and traced the scars over Jon’s shoulders. Whip scars, mostly, though a few were burns. “If this was a fairy tale, this would be the happy ending,” he said. “True love’s kiss would have fixed everything…but that is not how it works.”

Jon huffed impatiently and leaned his chin on his hands to look at Damian properly. “I’m aware of that,” he snapped. “And I don’t think the concept of inner beauty is going to work on the King…not when he wants you to lose so badly.”

Damian sighed. “I admit, I do not exactly have a plan,” he said. “I am rather depending on my mother to come up with something.”

“I thought you said once you didn’t trust your mother?”

“I do not,” Damian said. “But so far, she has helped in this task…and she is the only person who genuinely wants me to be King.”

“Including you.”

“Maybe so,” Damian agreed. “But I do want to win, at least.”

They were quiet for a minute. “I hope they like me, at least,” Jon said. “Before they see…maybe they’ll be kind just because I married you…and they love you.”

“Maybe that is enough,” Damian said. “I mean…you did not know many people before, did you?”

“Only the ones who came to the inn,” Jon said. “And of the hundreds who did, you were the only one who so much as asked my name.”

Damian tsked. “Of course,” he muttered. “Well…that might make it easier, not having baggage from that time.”

“Maybe,” Jon said. “But…what will you say, that you just happened to find me in Sunib and fall in love right away?”

“Why not?” Damian asked. His mind was racing as he gently displaced Jon and sat up. “Love at first sight…the beautiful peasant who caught the eye of a prince…I know, I know, do not say peasant,” he added as Jon opened his mouth.

“I was objecting to beautiful,” Jon said.

“Hush, you are beautiful,” Damian snapped. “And they will not know otherwise until the judging. Anyway, the prince falling in love with one of them…enough that he would throw the entire contest to marry him, will raise him up to a greater position? Truly love and care for him like he would all his people?” Damian grinned. “It is perfect…a fairy tale. And people love fairy tales.”

A smile was playing around Jon’s lips. “Sell them true love,” he said. “You’ll want me to play the innocent…the damsel you rescued?”

“I mean…”

Jon kissed him. “I’ll be happy to,” he said. “Going around Arat, telling everyone how wonderful you are and how happy I am that you came for me? That’s easy.”

“It is more than that,” Damian said. “We have to show them how wonderful you are as well.”

“I didn’t hear many fairy tales growing up,” Jon said. “But from what I understand, the damsel isn’t supposed to do much except look pretty and sigh over the hero.”

“Well, then,” Damian said with a smile. “I will have to practice my sighing.”

*

Jon didn’t know why Arat looked so different the next morning when he and Damian went out into the city, but it did. Something about it seemed brighter, more vibrant than it had before. The people around them were so loud and something about all of them, no matter how poor, was beautiful. Damian moved through them with assurance, holding Jon’s hand and calling out greetings to many of them.

Several people stopped to talk to them, asking Damian about his quest. Damian always smiled and introduced Jon proudly as his husband, much to many of their surprise. A few looked askance at Jon’s poor clothing, but most others looked delighted, congratulating them.

Jon was relieved that they spent most of the day on the street, where his scarf wasn’t particularly uncommon. Indeed, very few people looked at him twice; most people were more interested in speaking to Damian about various reforms and ideas they had for Sataria. Jon listened intently, eager to learn what would happen to the country if they won. Most of it was a bit beyond his education level and he made a mental note to ask Damian to explain it all later.

They returned to the inn at the end of the day. Damian ordered dinner and they sat down together. Jon reflected that he could get used to this—being by Damian’s side as his husband played politics, having meals together, holding hands throughout the day. So much had happened in Jon’s life since Damian had come into it, good and bad, and Jon wouldn’t give up any of it.

Damian looked at him thoughtfully over dinner. “Did you make any progress learning to read?” he asked.

Jon looked down. “A little,” he said. “I can at least identify letters now.”

“We need to work on that,” Damian said. “Reading, writing…would you like to learn English as well?”

“I know some,” Jon said. “But…if I’m going to stay with you once the ke’la manji is over, I should learn more.”

Damian looked puzzled. “Of course you will stay with me,” he said. “Perhaps the King forced us to rush things a little, but I have no intention of leaving you…whatever the outcome.”

Jon nodded. “Then I’ll learn,” he said. “As best as I can…reading, writing, English…anything you want to teach me.”

Damian smiled and took his hand. “You will do wonderfully,” he said. “I am sure of it.”

*

Jason was confused when he was pulled out of the cell well before the trial had been scheduled. He was even more confused when he was dragged out of the building and shoved onto the street.

His confusion dissipated when he saw Talia standing there, Kara with her, both looking rather unhappy.

“Just like old times,” Jason said casually. “Your Highness.”

“Jason,” Talia said curtly. “You need to stop getting into trouble.”

“Or what, you’ll leave for another country?” Jason asked, maybe a bit rudely.

Talia rolled her eyes. Kara sighed and went to him. “Are you all right?” Kara asked.

“I’m fine, they were hesitant to actually hurt me.” Jason glanced at Talia. “Your doing, or is it because I’m American?”

“The latter,” Talia said. “I only bailed you out as a present to Damian.”

“Present?”

“For his wedding,” Kara said.

“Damian’s getting married?!”

“Damian is married,” Kara said gently. “Clark convinced Bruce to let it happen…it’s been two days since then.”

Jason pouted. “I missed my little brother’s wedding? But I was supposed to drink too much and give a really embarrassing speech that would make his bride reconsider the match!”

“Everyone except their parents missed the wedding,” Talia said. “We were in a bit of a hurry...I didn’t want Bruce to have the chance to change his mind, or for my father to intervene.”

“That’s fair.” They were walking through Arat, slow and casual. “So I’m just a wedding present?”

“Damian needs all the allies he can get,” Talia said. “You’ll do us no good if you’re executed for treason…and Slade has already made an advance on your wife.”

Jason bristled and Kara squeezed his hand. “I’m fine,” she said. “But Talia’s right…we need to stick together.”

“So…what, you bribed the King to drop charges?”

“More like persuaded him that you weren’t actually a threat,” Talia said. “And promised that I would keep a very close eye on you.”

“I’m sure you will,” Jason said. “So what do we do now?”

“You and Kara can go back to the reporting part,” Talia said. “Try not to murder Slade Wilson, that would definitely prove to the King that I was lying.”

“Do I at least get to meet Damian’s wife?”

“Husband,” Kara corrected. “And I suspect you will, eventually.”

“Who is he, then?” Jason asked.

“His name is Jon Kent,” Kara said.

Jason blinked. “Kent?”

“Clark…might have spontaneously adopted him,” Kara said. “Heklin orphan…he needed someone to speak for him.”

“Yes, that’s the other thing,” Talia said. “Your family needs to stop seducing all the Wayne men…you’re going to leave all the girls in Gotham very disappointed.”

Kara grinned. “Can’t help it if my family’s the best,” she said. “Et’na dami, Your Highness.”

Talia smiled back. “Et’na dami, Ms. Danvers.”

*

The next few weeks were some of the most bizarre Jon had ever known.

His whole life, he had been nothing but the heklin, the orphan, the servant. No one had paid him any mind except to berate him. A year before, Jon had accepted that he would die under Zod’s abuse and be forgotten, just another poor servant in a city full of them.

But now…now he was married to a prince and being taken around the city to meet people like he was one of them, like he was more than that. And the people treated him with…respect. Kindness, even, kindness he hadn’t ever had before he met Damian, not even from his mother. People who used to look right past him now met his eye and asked him questions and seemed genuinely interested in what he had to say. People who once would have turned a blind eye to what Zod did to him now listened patiently to his ideas about reforming the service industry to allow fewer abuses, asked in-depth questions about his ideas for a foster-care system for the street orphans, contributed to his plans for helping other heklin.

It was odd. Jon was gratified that people were at least willing to listen, and when the look of rapture on Damian’s face when Jon started talking was worth it, but it still felt like this could end at any time. Like someone would recognize him for what he was and call for Damian to leave him, turn the people against them, force him to go back to Zod. He still wondered why Damian had married him and how long it was going to last; any day now, he expected to wake up in his old cupboard back at Zod’s inn, like all of this had just been part of a long and beautiful dream.

Nearly a month after the wedding, Jon woke in a cold sweat, the scars over his face and neck tingling. He was breathing too hard and tears were falling from his eyes, though he couldn’t quite remember why.

Damian stirred next to him. “Jon?” he mumbled.

Jon blinked. “I’m fine,” he said. “Go back to sleep.”

Damian rolled over toward him. Jon could see him frowning in the moonlight from the window. “You are crying,” Damian observed.

“I…” Jon took a shuddering breath. “I don’t know why,” he said, his voice small. “It must have been a nightmare.”

Damian sat up and moved in closer, pulling Jon into his arms. Jon leaned on Damian’s shoulder, breathing deeply to assure himself this was real. He was safe.

“When I had nightmares as a child, Father or Grayson would always encourage me to talk about them,” Damian said. “Do you want to tell me about yours?”

Jon settled more comfortably in Damian’s hold. “I don’t remember it,” he said. “I just…woke up with a feeling of…sadness? Anger? I don’t know…I just…it still hurts, Dami.”

Damian ran his fingers over the scars on Jon’s back. Honestly, Jon realized there weren’t many places on his body that weren’t covered in scars of some sort. Zod had destroyed almost every part of him, ruined him for almost anyone.

“I never realized how much it hurt when I was there,” Jon continued. “Back then…it was just part of my life…what he did to me…none of it was illegal, and even if it was, no one cared…it was…not easy to live with, but…easier than trying to not live with it.”

Damian’s grip tightened. “It is over, Jon,” he said. “You are safe…I will never allow anyone to harm you again.”

“I know,” Jon said. “It just…it’s just hit me how awful my life was there…you don’t even know the half of it.”

“Do you want to tell me?”

Jon shook his head. “I don’t…you don’t need to hear it,” he said.

“Maybe not…but if you want to tell me, I will listen.”

Jon closed his eyes. “I know you will.”

They were quiet for a long time, Jon crying into Damian’s chest. Months after he had left Zod’s household, and only now, when he was safe with a man who loved him, when people cared for him, did the reality of it hit him. Why? Why now?

Damian ran his hand over Jon’s hair and back, soothing him, comforting him. He didn’t ask any more questions, didn’t push Jon to stop sniveling, only held him for as long as he was needed. Finally, though, Jon stopped crying and just breathed.

Damian lay down again, guiding Jon to lie with him. Jon curled up on his chest, hoping that the warmth of his husband’s arms would be enough to keep the nightmares away for just a little while.

“I love you, Jon,” Damian whispered in the darkness. “And I will protect you.”

Jon murmured back, fading fast. He fell asleep again, Damian’s fingers raking through his hair, the strong arm around his back reassuring him that he would be all right.

*

Slade Wilson didn’t make a point of meeting with Dusan very often. They were political rivals, after all, and even without the ke’la manji they had never liked each other very much. Something about Dusan was just creepy, and while Slade was no stranger to violence, Dusan’s methods still made his skin crawl. Sure, Slade would beat a tiny teenage boy half to death if the King ordered it, but Dusan…Dusan wouldn’t have stopped there. Had Dusan been in charge of Tim’s capture, he never would have escaped Sataria.

However, desperate times called for desperate measures, which was how Slade found himself in a noisy but still expensive bar, leaning on a table and trying not to show that his cousin intimidated him.

“I see you shook off your press corps,” Dusan commented.

“You as well,” Slade said. “I didn’t want the Americans to pass word to the heklin.”

Dusan sat back, considering. “You’re worried he’ll still defeat us?”

“You need to listen to what they say on the streets more,” Slade said. “The people love him. He can do no wrong in their eyes…he’s practically turned into Tim all over again. And he’s already taken a husband, and the people love him as well.”

“I had heard that a marriage took place,” Dusan said. “Have you seen the husband?”

“He never leaves Damian’s side.”

“Likely to win over the brides we take?”

Slade shrugged. “His eyes are pretty,” he said. “Beyond that, I’m not sure; he dresses as a peasant, scarf and all. But we both know it doesn’t matter—they have support.” He made a disgusted noise. “Do you know what they’ve done? Bought out an entire inn and they’re holding school there! Teaching people to read and write and speak English for no pay! And they have Talia’s support, which means Ra's won’t shut it down.”

Dusan frowned. “Education is the greatest weapon the masses have against us,” he said. “If they start learning to read, they will start to think…the rebellion already has enough support without more people finding they can have better.”

“They’re stirring up more trouble than that,” Slade said. “Wherever Damian dug this boy up, he found a clever one...I heard some of his planned reforms and he wants the lower classes to be treated like they’re equal to us! He’s gotten into Damian’s ear about reforming the way people treat their wives and servants—and all the people keep lapping it up.”

“Is the boy nobility at least?”

“Not from what I’ve heard,” Slade said. “The story is that he was just some nobody Damian picked up off the street…all that nonsense about love at first sight and the hero swooping in to save a pretty maid.” He snorted. “Love! As though that has anything to do with this!”

Dusan sighed and gave Slade an unimpressed glare. “So what do you want to do about it?” he asked.

“There is one saving grace,” Slade said. “We don’t have to get through Diyanah anymore.”

Dusan nodded. “That is true,” he said. “But if he has support, openly killing him could cause a riot.”

“True,” Slade said. “But accidents happen.”

“It’s very hard to accidentally stab someone,” Dusan pointed out.

“What’s your plan, then?”

“My plan is to marry a beautiful woman on the morrow,” Dusan said. “And while the people are distracted by the spectacle…well, I suspect the brat won’t be attending…a good chance to destroy the entire operation with minimal fuss.”

“A bomb?”

“Nothing so crude…but you’re a mercenary.” Dusan half-smirked and tossed a bag of coins across the table. “I think you can smuggle in enough weapons by morning to kill everyone in that inn…the heklin, his husband, any supporters he has…and if any of those meddling journalists get caught in the crossfire, I certainly won’t complain.”

Slade grinned. “Neither will I.”

“Pass it off as a terrorist attack,” Dusan said. “And I hear the King would be just as happy to be rid of him.”

“Very happy,” Slade agreed. “Had I not been delayed last time, the heklin would already be dead.”

*

Damian hadn’t exactly planned to open a public school. All he’d done was ask his mother to help Jon learn to read Satarian—Damian’s skill in the subject was shaky at best and Tim was too busy running the revolution.

Talia had agreed, and had set up shop in the common room downstairs. Damian didn’t want to leave Jon alone with his mother for hours on end, so he sat with them, doing some studying of his own. Talia hadn’t exactly closed the inn off, so people started coming in to talk to Damian.

The first person to speak to Talia was a young girl, perhaps nine or ten, who asked if she could learn what Jon was learning while her father talked politics with Damian. Talia had been surprised, but then shrugged and invited her to sit down. From there, other children had started creeping in and gathering around, and then adults as well until Talia found she had a full classroom.

“I don’t understand it,” she confided to Damian.

“They have never had the opportunity to learn before,” Damian said. “And education will help all of them improve their stations.” He pulled out his wallet and started counting out what cash he still had. “Get them all primers…maybe find another teacher or two. If I am to be King, I will not have an illiterate populace.”

Talia ducked her head to hide her smile.

“What?” Damian asked.

“Timothy always said the same thing,” she said. “I think, if he’d had the resources back then, we would have gotten this going much earlier.”

“Would you have supported it then?” Damian asked pointedly.

Talia sighed. “Ten years ago, I would have laughed,” she admitted. “But now…it’s so gratifying, isn’t it, watching them learn?”

“It is,” Damian said. “Mother…you have earned more love and respect in the last two weeks as a school teacher than you ever did as a princess.”

She smiled, a small, genuine smile as she ran her hand over the primer she was working from. “Perhaps…once this revolution is over…I will have a place in Sataria after all.”

Damian smiled back. “What does Grandfather think of this?”

Talia blinked. “He’s…not happy but he’s not going to interfere. And…I don’t think I actually care what he thinks.”

Damian raised an eyebrow. “If you cared what he thought, I would not be here.”

“But I left,” she said. “I mean…” She broke off, clearly struggling. “When I married Bruce, it was…rebellion, yes, but it was fairly tame in my mind. He was rich, I was beautiful, we thought we were in love. Yes, he already had Dick, but…well, Dick’s always been a sweetheart. I knew nothing of children and thought they were all like him. Then Barbara came along, and you…and it was fine, but…straining. And then…well, then Jason came and I was exhausted and Bruce was too soft…”

“You left because of Todd.” Damian had known this, but it still hurt to hear.

“Not entirely,” Talia said. “I mean, that didn’t help, and Bruce and I were already on shaky ground, but…my father called me home.”

“Why?” Damian asked.

She looked down and took a breath. “He wanted you.”

Damian stood there, stunned. “What?”

“He wrote to me…said that Timothy was growing too clever and curious…I don’t know how he could tell an eight-year-old boy would be trouble, but he knew…so he wanted an heir he could raise right. One he could mold easier. He said that…if I came back, and brought you…cut ties with Bruce, begged his forgiveness…he would accept us back and make you the Crown Prince.”

“But you did not bring me.”

“No,” Talia said. “I knew Bruce would never allow it...and I didn’t want you to become like my father.”

“So why did you leave?” Damian demanded. “Why did you abandon me? I know you did not love Father, but…”

“I did love him!” Talia snapped. “That’s why I left.” She closed her eyes, blinking back tears. “The King said that…if I didn’t return, all of us would meet with an accident…I don’t know what he was planning, but I know he had enough people in Gotham to make that happen. And when it came to a choice between breaking his heart and killing him and all his children…well, it was easy enough.”

Damian stared at her for a moment. He didn’t doubt the story, and he could definitely ask Bruce to confirm it later. He blinked back tears. “I still missed you,” he admitted. “I never got to know you when I was a child…and…there were some prospects, and Kent is a good stepfather, but…”

“I know,” she said. “I’m sorry…if I could do it all again…”

“It does not matter,” Damian said. “Right now…we have gotten to a place where we can build something.”

She nodded. “Well…right now, what I’m building is a school system,” she said. “And so far…it seems to be going pretty well.”

*

The announcement of Dusan’s impending marriage brought everything to a screeching halt.

“I pity whoever he’s chosen,” Tim said. “No matter how beautiful she is, she’s in for a terrible life.”

“Right,” Damian said. “Mother, you will be there, yes?”

“Of course,” Talia said.

“Kent, Danvers, Lane?”

“Reporting and photographing,” Clark said.

“Luthor?”

“I’ll be there.” Conner grinned. “Want us to ruin it?”

“Seems a bit rude,” Cass said.

“But also a good way to stir up trouble,” Tim said. “And I don’t feel like I owe Dusan al Ghul any favors right now.”

“You’re staying here,” Lonnie said to Tim. “There will be guards everywhere…we can’t risk you being captured.”

Tim pouted.

“Machin is right,” Damian said. “You and I will stay here with Jon…I suppose Alanna will be teaching tomorrow.”

“For whoever shows up,” Jon said. “Royal weddings tend to be large spectacles, don’t they?”

“Generally,” Talia said. “And since the King will have to officiate this one, it’s bound to be rather dramatic.”

“Right,” Tim said. “Well, I suppose I can handle class for one day.”

*

Damian tried to keep himself from falling asleep. Very few people had shown up that day—just as well, since Damian doubted that the Alanna el-Fadil disguise would keep Tim hidden from too many people in such a small space. The few who had come spoke to Damian briefly, but were more intent on practicing their letters than anything else.

Damian sat next to Jon, absently doodling on a piece of scratch paper. A year away from school had wrecked his study habits beyond repair, and Damian was grateful that his privileged position meant he didn’t actually need to finish high school.

Jon glanced over at him, eyes smiling. “Look,” he said, showing Damian a page.

On it, in shaky, childish script, was written  _ Jonathan Kent-Wayne _ .

Damian smiled. “You did it,” he said, pecking Jon on the cheek just above his scarf.

“It looks so beautiful, written like this,” Jon said.

“It does,” Damian said. “It is a beautiful name.”

Jon squeezed his hand, joy radiating off him and Damian wished that he would do away with the scarf just so he could kiss him properly.

Before Damian could so much as suggest it, though, the door burst open. The half-dozen people in the room turned and all froze. Slade Wilson stood in the doorway, gun in hand, with several other men behind him, all armed.

“The civilians have ten seconds to leave,” Wilson said.

The few students in the room looked to Damian before the eldest of them stood up. “We will not leave our champion,” he said.

Wilson aimed his gun and fired. The man fell, dead before he hit the ground. There were several screams.

“Go!” Damian shouted to the others. The remaining students fled the room, leaving only Damian, Jon and Tim behind with their captors.

Damian stood up and moved between Wilson and Tim, who was standing stock-still, eyes wide in shock and panic behind his veil.

“So this is how the ke’la manji ends,” Damian said.

“Nothing personal,” Wilson said. He gestured at Tim. “Get out if you want to live.”

Tim didn’t move, though whether he was frozen in fear or making a plan Damian wasn’t sure.

“Didn’t you hear me, bitch? I said get out!”

“No…”

Damian looked at his brother in shock. Tim sounded afraid. That wasn’t right, Tim was never afraid. Annoying, arrogant, way too smart, self-righteous…but never afraid.

Wilson strode across the room and grabbed Tim’s wrist, clearly intent on dragging him out. Damian flinched as he heard the crack and then the break as Tim struggled against the hold. He cried out, falling to his knees.

Wilson’s eyebrows hit his hairline. “I know that scream anywhere,” he whispered. He reached down and ripped the veil away.

Tim looked up, defiance in his eyes. Wilson was smiling cruelly. “Well, Timothy,” he said. “It’s nice to see you again.” He put his gun to Tim’s forehead. “The King will be very pleased when I bring you back…dead or alive.”

“NO!” Damian screamed before he could help himself.

Wilson half turned and nodded. One of the other men in the room aimed and shot out Damian’s knee. He cried out as he fell. Jon caught him and lowered him to the floor, kneeling next to him. Damian’s leg was on fire, pain shooting through the entire side of his body. Jon held onto him. “Dami,” he whispered. “Dami, you’re okay…just stay with me…”

Damian looked up at Jon and brushed his hand weakly over the scarf, a silent plea. Jon hesitated, then reached up and removed it, letting Damian look at him.

Wilson saw and he sneered. “Just as well I’m ending this here,” he said. “That hideous beast would never win the hearts of Arat…did you just choose your favorite whore? Planning a pretty speech about inner beauty? Wanted to make a fairy tale of it?”

Jon flinched and bent his head down, as though to hide, as though he could keep Wilson’s words at bay.

Damian gritted his teeth and forced himself to stand. Jon instantly moved to help him, supporting Damian as best as he could. Damian leveled a glare at Wilson. “You will not speak to him that way,” he gasped.

“You’re in no position to make threats,” Wilson said. “You cannot fight, and I have your brother on his knees at gunpoint. I suggest you just die quietly so we can get on with the competition without your interference.”

“Then do it,” Damian said. “Pull the triggers…end this now.” He smirked at Wilson. “But you cannot…you could not kill him before, and you cannot kill us now. You know that if you do, the people will still vote against you in revenge. You know that if Prince Yurem is murdered by the crown, the revolution will begin at once. You know that if you harm us, the people of Arat will not hesitate to end you.”

Wilson sneered. “Do you think I care?” he asked. “I won’t be King…maybe I would have been at first, but I think not now. Dusan will be King…he will be the one the peasants destroy. And then, once the civil war has been put down…then I can rise from the ashes and take the country back…bring it back to glory…with no more rebels to get in my way.” He turned back to Tim, a cruel smile on his face. “And you, Timothy Drake…well, you make a very good martyr.” He cocked the gun. “Any last words?”

Tim glared up at Wilson for a moment before he spat on the floor at his feet. “Viva la fuck you,” he said.

Damian clung to Jon, unable to close his eyes. Jon clutched at him, his face a mask of horror. Wilson glared for another moment.

People said for years after that the gunshot shook the entire street.

Jon screamed as Wilson fell forward. Tim barely managed to get out of the way in time, scrambling back, breathing hard.

Everyone in the room turned as Jason walked in, gun still in hand. “I suggest everyone leave,” he said. “I have five shots and four targets…do the math.”

Wilson’s mercenaries exchanged a glance.

“And I wouldn’t say anything, either,” Jason continued. “That should go without saying, but none of you were smart enough to watch the door, so I feel like I have to spell things out for you.”

The mercenaries took another second before they dropped their weapons and turned to run. Jason watched until they were gone before he hurried to Tim. “Are you okay?” he asked.

“Fine,” Tim said. “Just my wrist…see to Damian.”

Jason turned as the adrenaline wore off and Damian’s leg buckled, leaving him supported entirely by Jon. Jason sighed and caught Damian in his arms, scooping him up like he was a child again.

“Doctor anywhere nearby?” Jason asked.

“I know one,” Jon said. “The one who set my hand…come on.” He turned and led Jason out of the inn. Damian maintained consciousness for barely a minute before the pain and shock overwhelmed him and he blacked out.

*

Tim stayed on his knees on the floor of the common room, staring at the bodies in front of him, clutching his broken wrist, his breath short.

He stared at the body of Slade Wilson, every scar on his body screaming in pain. The pain in his wrist spread up his arm, a phantom break in his leg reopening, whips and cuts over his back and shoulders…

He didn’t know how long he sat there, the memories overwhelming him. He could feel the breaks, see Wilson’s sadistic glee as he had beaten Tim to unconsciousness, hear his own screams and tears…

Hae didn’t realize he had started screaming again until he heard someone yelling his name. He looked up, eyes unseeing as he fell into a pair of strong arms.

“Tim! Tim!”

Slowly, Tim blinked and looked up. Conner was holding him, looking panicked.

“Conner…” Tim gasped out before he fell into Conner’s chest, sobbing now from pain and anger and a slight bit of relief.

Conner rubbed Tim’s back soothingly. “What happened?” Conner asked gently once Tim had calmed down enough.

“He…he wanted to kill Dami,” Tim said. “But he found me…so…he was going to…” He swallowed a few times. “Jason saved us,” he said. “He’s taken Dami to a doctor.”

Conner pulled back and looked Tim over. “You…?”

“He broke my wrist,” Tim said. “But otherwise…I’m okay.”

Conner nodded and turned. “Lonnie, take over.” Conner moved aside and Lonnie knelt down.

“Brace yourself, Your Highness,” Lonnie murmured.

Tim closed his eyes and grit his teeth, trying not to scream as Lonnie set the broken bone. “Splint?”

“Here.” Tim heard something break and there was wood against his wrist.

“Cloth.”

Sounds of ripping cloth and Lonnie was wrapping it. Tim was in a haze, unsure of what was happening, only that his arm hurt and Conner was holding him still from behind and the whole place smelled like death and Tim just wanted to sleep.

He could hear Talia’s voice at the door, giving orders, and then Conner was pulling him to his feet.

“Come on,” Conner said. “Bed for you…Lonnie, get him some sedatives.”

“Already have them.”

Tim let himself be guided upstairs. He swallowed the pills Conner gave him without complaint, drank the water from the glass pressed to his lips, and within minutes had faded to unconsciousness.

*

It was late when Jason brought Jon and Damian back to the inn. Talia was waiting, looking very pale and panicked.

Damian was at least able to stand, with Jon’s help. He barely spared a small smile for his mother. “I am fine,” he said as she opened her mouth. “It was not too deep.”

“You got shot!”

“Details.”

She looked at him for a second before she surged forward and embraced him. Damian was briefly surprised, but then hugged her back.

Once they broke apart, she turned to Jason and hugged him as well. Jason stiffened, obviously confused and uncomfortable. “Um…”

She pulled back. “Thank you,” she said. “For saving them.”

Jason shrugged. “I’m trying to sleep in and then I’m woken up by shouting and gunshots. Of course I’m gonna respond in kind.”

“Still…”

There was a cough behind them. They turned to see Lonnie waiting. “Your Highness, if you’re finished, we do need to decide what we’re going to tell the King when the soldiers take Mr. Wilson back.”

“Tell him that Damian shot him,” Talia said. “The rules of ke’la manji clearly allow the competitors to kill each other without repercussion.”

Damian blinked. “But…”

“Just stick to that story,” Talia said. “Get the journalists in here tomorrow morning so we can embellish it a little. Until then, boys, bed.”

Jon bowed his head and pulled Damian’s arm around his shoulders to carry him up the stairs. Jason watched them go and then looked back to Talia. “So, Miss al Ghul…other than that, how was the wedding?”

She rolled her eyes at him.

*

Jon got Damian settled into bed with a quick kiss. “Do you want anything?” he asked.

Damian shook his head. “Just stay here with me,” he said.

“I can order food…”

“No,” Damian said.

Jon frowned. “You haven’t eaten today.”

“Neither have you,” Damian pointed out.

“Then I’ll have someone bring us something.” Jon kissed Damian again. “I’m just going to ask Princess Talia to arrange something…I’ll be right back, I promise.”

Damian half-smiled. “She is your mother-in-law, I do not think you have to maintain the formalities.”

Jon blushed, but didn’t speak as he hurried down the stairs.

He returned a few minutes later. “She’s sending bread and relik up,” he said. “Can you stay awake?”

Damian nodded. “I believe so.” He forced himself to sit up. Jon sat down beside him and held his hand until Talia came in.

“Here,” she said. “Bit thin, but we were short today.”

Jon took the tray and set up for them to be comfortable.

“What happens now?” Damian asked. “Wilson is dead, and Dusan and I are both married...is the ke’la manji over?”

“I’ve been running interference with my father,” Talia said, pulling out her phone. “I told him it was an honorable killing, so he can’t punish anyone over it. Wilson’s funeral will be held in three days…and the judging will be held immediately after.”

Damian tsked. “That seems disrespectful.”

“The King wants this over with,” she said. “So that gives us three days to get you two ready to face the people as a couple.”

Jon self-consciously touched the scars on his face. “That’s not much time to fix…this,” he said.

“Tomorrow we’re going back to the palace,” Talia said. “It will be easier to come up with something where we at least have hot water.”

“Your vote of confidence is overwhelming, Mother,” Damian said.

She glared. “Eat your dinner and go to sleep.”

Damian couldn’t even find it in himself to argue.

*

Entering the palace for the second time was no less nerve-wracking than it had been the first time. In fact, Jon was even more terrified now that he was entering as Damian’s husband with Ra's al Ghul already angry at them both.

Fortunately, they didn’t meet anyone of importance as Talia guided them back up to Bruce’s suite. They slipped inside to find Bruce, along with two younger adults waiting.

Bruce did not look happy.

“Explain,” he said to Damian.

“He attacked us,” Damian said, collapsing onto a couch. “We responded in kind.” With one hand, he quickly signed out _ Jason _ .

Bruce closed his eyes and Damian could see him silently counting to ten.

“That’s not important,” Talia said. “Under the rules, everything was perfectly legal and justified. What we need to do now is get through the judging.” She nodded to Jon, who removed his scarf.

The young man studied him carefully. “It’s not so bad,” he said.

Jon looked down. “Please don’t lie to me, Mr…?”

“Richard Grayson-Wayne,” he said. “And our sister, Stephanie Brown-Wayne.” He smiled. “And I don’t lie.”

“That is another lie,” Damian said without opening his eyes. “Grayson lies all the time in an attempt to make everyone feel better.”

Richard Grayson-Wayne rolled his eyes. “I mean it,” he said. “I think we can work with this.”

“How?” Jon asked. “I mean…it’s…”

“Lucky for you, we’ve had over a month with nothing to do,” Stephanie said. “And while Ra's monitors our Internet usage, he at least lets us have it, and Dick and I watch way too many makeup tutorials on YouTube.” She pulled out a tablet and hit the screen a few times. “Here we go…might take a few tries, but we’ve got a few days.” She glanced at Talia. “Your Highness, can you get the right foundations?”

“Of course,” Talia said. “And new clothes…something worthy of a prince.” She smiled. “I leave them in your hands, Bruce.”

“Thank you,” he said.

Talia left the room. Richard and Stephanie watched her go before turning to Jon.

“So,” Richard said. “You married our little brother.”

Jon nodded, confused.

“Well, we’re glad he loves you,” Stephlind said. “But if you hurt him…”

“Break his heart…”

“Ever make him feel unloved…”

“It won’t be pleasant,” Richard finished. “For anyone.”

Damian tsked. “I do not need you two to protect me,” he snapped. He held out his hand and Jon went and sat by him, curling into Damian’s side.

“Have to be sure,” Richard said. He sat down in a chair across from them and smiled. “So, Jon…tell us about yourself.”

Jon sighed and settled in for a very long interview.

*

The square was unusually somber as Ra's stepped out on the balcony. Damian felt a bit disconcerted—he was used to Arat being loud, raucous, energetic. Now, with a funeral just finished, it felt…not dead, exactly, but the energy was different. More somber, more low-key, but still angry. Like a beast merely closed in a cage.

“My people!” Ra's called. “Although today is a day of sorrow, it is also a day of joy. Today, the heir to the throne of Sataria will be chosen, once and for all. The final task of the ke’la manji is over. Now, Dusan al Ghul and Damian Wayne will present their consorts, and you will judge their beauty.”

Damian glanced at Jon. Talia, Dick and Steph had done their best with him, putting him in a tight suit and ornate vest favored around the palace. Dick’s skill with a makeup brush had managed to conceal most of the damage Zod had done, though not completely.

“Dusan al Ghul, present your bride.”

Dusan stepped forward, a very beautiful woman on his arm. They both knelt before the King. “Your Majesty, my wife, Shadmani Bhatti.”

“Rise, Shadmani Bhatti,” Ra's said. The lady stood and turned towards the cameras, giving a beauty pageant smile. There was a murmur from the people below and Damian felt a stab of pity for her.

“Damian Wayne, present your consort.”

Damian took a deep breath and looked to Jon again. Jon squeezed his hand, his blue eyes terrified as they stepped on the balcony.

There was a gasp and a murmur from below again, but Damian ignored them. He knelt before the King, his leg screaming in pain from the motion, Jon’s hand still in his. “Your Majesty, my husband Jonathan Kent.”

Ra's looked at them, his lip curling in disgust. Jon’s eyes were down and Damian could feel him shaking. His grip on Jon’s hand tightened.

“Well?” Ra's asked.

Damian looked up at him. “Well what?”

“I know you’ve prepared a defense of this…creature. So what is it?”

Damian glared. “I love him,” he said. “He is everything you have asked for and more, and I will have no other…and that is what makes him beautiful.”

Ra's glared for a moment. Damian met his eye, refusing to look away.

“Rise, Jonathan Kent.”

Jon and Damian stood up. Jon took a breath and turned towards the people. He hesitated, then smiled at them, his soft, gentle gap-toothed smile, and in that moment Damian didn’t care what they thought or if he won, because Jon was the most beautiful thing he had ever found.

Ra's turned to the crowd. “You have seen what the champions have presented,” he called. “Raise the green for Dusan al Ghul or the blue for Damian Wayne.”

Damian gripped Jon’s hand, facing the crowd tall and proud as every single person in the square raised the blue card.


	8. Chapter 7

Ra's stormed back into the palace in a towering temper. How? How had the brat done it? Killed Slade, won the people, taken the crown…it was all too much to bear.

He slammed the door to his office, still fuming. He hoped that his underlings would have the good sense to stay out of his way for the rest of the day. It was going to be humiliating enough to place a crown on the heklin’s head tomorrow—he didn’t need the staff pissing him off as well.

Unfortunately, it seemed they had other plans in mind. Ra's had just finished writing out the orders for the next day’s ceremony when there was a knock at the door. He sighed.

“Enter!” he snapped.

The door opened and a servant came in, already cowering. “A thousand apologies for disturbing you, Your Majesty. General Zod has arrived and wishes to meet with you at once…in private.”

“Whatever for?” Ra's asked.

“He says he has information regarding Crown Prince Damian’s consort.”

Ra's bristled slightly at the title but nodded. “Show him in.”

The servant bowed and ducked out. A moment later, Zod came into the room, his expression completely neutral. That made Ra's pause—he hadn’t worked with the man personally in years, but he knew that expression meant anger that went beyond shouting.

“General Zod,” Ra's said coolly. “I understand you have something to say about the prince’s consort.”

“I do,” Zod said. “You can imagine my shock at seeing him on the balcony today.”

“All of our shock,” Ra's said. “But while the boy is hideous, the people want the heklin and I cannot overrule the results of a ke’la manji…no matter how distasteful I find them.”

“Jon is not who the prince says,” Zod said. “He was in my service for years…I don’t know where he got the name Kent, but it isn’t his. He is a heklin orphan…a common whore and an ungrateful one at that. Whatever the prince said of love, it simply isn’t true…he merely chose his favorite slut to mock you.”

Ra's sat back and studied Zod carefully. “Did the scars come from Damian’s…inclinations?”

“They did,” Zod said. “They behaved dishonorably in my house…I was well within my rights to punish a disobedient servant.”

“Of course,” Ra's said. “Damian would, of course, be obligated to marry his whore…and he spun it into a love story for the masses in order to shame me.”

“And they bought it,” Zod said.

Ra's nodded. “I cannot change the results,” he said. “Nor can I deny their marriage…Wayne approved and the heklin found someone to speak for him…I studied the license and one of the Americans claimed him.” He sat there, thinking. “What would you do to the boy if he was suddenly without protection?”

“I would take him back into my service,” Zod said. “Not a serving boy…perhaps a bed warmer for those who want one. Well…you don’t need to know details.”

“No,” Ra's said. He leaned forward. “It is probably evident that I am not entirely pleased with my grandson’s rise to power. He will dismantle everything I have worked for…push his American ideals onto Sataria. I would be most gratified if he were to meet with an accident before tomorrow…along with the rest of those bleeding hearts he travels with.”

“All the Americans?”

“All of them…his family, the journalists…unfortunately, Princess Diyanah as well.” Ra's smiled. “If you can get rid of them before tomorrow morning, you will have the boy…and perhaps a few upgrades to your inn.”

Zod smiled, his cold, wicked smile. “I am, as ever, happy to serve, Your Majesty.”

*

Diana was the first to meet Damian and Jon as they returned to the family’s suite. She threw her arms around them both and kissed them each on the cheek.

“You did it!” she said. “Oh, Dami, it was so beautiful!”

“Thank you, Prince,” Damian said. “Please let go.”

She laughed and stepped back. “The reporters have been invited in,” she said. “Officially to interview you both, but really because they want to celebrate with us.”

“Our friends in the city?” Damian asked.

“Have been in touch,” Diana said. “They wish to meet with you as soon as all the formalities are taken care of.”

“And when they are, I will be happy to,” Damian said. “Please inform my mother that we will be in need of a new wardrobe for the ceremony tomorrow…include a veil, if you please.”

Jon squeezed Damian’s hand gratefully. Diana smiled and started firing off messages.

They managed to get into the main room before the entire family converged on them, all hugging them. Jon seemed overwhelmed and happy about it, though Damian barely suffered through it before he waved them all down and collapsed on a couch. His leg was starting to ache again. The little puppy he had brought back stumbled over and Damian picked him up reflexively to pet.

“All right,” Damian said once everyone had settled and Alfred had passed out drinks. “To business. Obviously, this is going to be a major change in all our lives and…”

Dick rolled his eyes expressively. “Damian, you just won an election. Celebrate now, business tomorrow.”

Damian frowned. “Tomorrow there will be a ceremony to make everything official and I intend to start work at once.”

“Most of your work will be to follow the King and learn how he conducts the court,” Talia said. “You won’t begin making any decisions until he literally can’t get out of bed anymore, and knowing him, he’ll still have you report in with everything until he’s dead and buried.”

“Nevertheless,” Damian said. “I wish to have everything in place to make the inevitable transition as smooth as possible.” He looked to his family. “What are your plans?”

“Unfortunately, we weren’t given much choice in the matter,” Bruce said. “The King has made it very clear that he wants me out of here as quickly as possible…something about you being a man and needing to stand on your own.” He sighed and looked at Damian. “I would have liked to stay to help you, but…”

“I can manage,” Damian said.

“And I’ll help him,” Talia added.

“Steph and I have finished our business arrangements,” Dick said. “Which is to say, we’ll be coming back to that once the transition is over…the current administration isn’t interested.”

“I’m staying,” Diana said.

“Which means I am too,” Lois added.

“Will you be staying as my assistant or as a princess?” Damian asked.

Diana shrugged. “Both, I suppose…I doubt I would do well as a princess for long. But I won’t leave you on your own here.”

“Jason and I will be returning to Gotham,” Kara said. “Unless you need us here.”

Damian shook his head. “Ra's is right…I must learn to stand on my own.”

Jon took his hand and smiled. “You won’t be on your own,” he said. “We’re always going to have each other…and we’ll always have someone to help us.”

There was a general murmur of appreciation. Damian ignored it in favor of smiling at his husband.

Jon looked to Talia. “So…I probably should have asked sooner, but…what exactly is my job now?”

“Well, were you a woman, your job would mainly be to push out babies as quickly as possible,” Talia said. “But you aren’t.”

“Not that it will stop them trying,” Steph muttered. Damian and Jon both went bright red and Bruce gave her a glare that would shatter mirrors.

Talia ignored her. “Mostly you’ll be in charge of running the household…hiring staff, organizing formal events, that sort of thing. And of course, if Damian calls for your advice, you’ll give it…make a speech now and then, go down and make friends among the people…I daresay you’ll have your hands full.”

Jon nodded, though he looked rather terrified. “I…I’m not sure how to do any of it,” he admitted. “I’ve been a servant for so long…”

“It’s a lot easier than it sounds,” Clark said.

“How would you know?” Bruce asked. “It’s not like I ask you for political advice.”

“No, but you do have me running the galas,” Clark said. He looked at Bruce thoughtfully. “How soon are you leaving?”

“Next week,” Bruce said. “I take it you won’t come with me.” He sounded sad, but resigned.

“One of us needs to be here,” Clark said. “I promise, I’ll come back once they’re both settled into their new roles.” He half-smiled and squeezed Bruce’s hand. “I can’t find a son and then just abandon him again…you know that.”

Bruce half-smiled back. “I know,” he said. “I wouldn’t love you if you could.”

There was an awkward silence for a moment before Dick spoke again. “Right,” he said. “Are we all done being boring yet? Cause if so, I think we need to celebrate properly.” He turned with a grin. “Clear the furniture.”

There was a bit of confusion as everyone got up and started moving everything out of the way. It took only a few minutes before there was a large enough space for Dick’s satisfaction. “Talia told me that usually in celebration, the new heir would dance si’la roj against everyone in the room,” Dick said. “But since you’re down a leg, she’s arranged something else instead.”

Talia and Diana both grinned and drew their swords as Steph turned on her iPod. “Si’la!” Talia called.

“Roj et ni!” Diana answered.

No matter how long he lived, Damian would never see anything more impressive than watching those two women dance. Where a normal si’la roj would involve shouting, cheering, insults from the audience, this time everyone was completely silent, the only noise the beat of the music and the clash of the swords. They moved fluidly, even more smoothly than Diana and Tim did, both clearly skilled performers just showing off rather than trying to win. Swords met, hands met, and never for a second did they even seem to think about pausing. All Damian could do was watch in awe, wondering how long they would keep going—he knew that Diana could go for hours if she wanted, and while he had never seen Talia perform before, he could tell she was just as skilled.

Just as Damian concluded they would dance all night, he noticed the puppy in his lap was breathing slower than before. His brow furrowed as he realized the little dog didn’t wake when he shook it slightly. He glanced up and noticed that, while still skilled, Diana and Talia weren’t nearly as energetic as they should be for a si’la roj.

_ No, no, not again _ .

“Stop!” he called.

The dancers paused as he stood up, clutching the dog close. He took a breath and felt lightheaded as he went for the door.

Locked. He pounded on it and there was no answer.

“Dami?” Jon asked.

“We need out,” Damian said. His vision was swimming, his lungs starting to burn. He’d felt this before, years ago, and it had almost killed him. “The air…”

That got them moving. Dick and Bruce went for the window, finding it was also locked.

“Sword!” Bruce called.

Talia threw hers to him and, much to Damian’s shock, Bruce caught it perfectly. Sword in hand, he used it to break the window. “Dick, Steph, go,” he said. “Get help from the city…it looks like Ra's isn’t going to be holding a ceremony tomorrow after all.”

Damian shoved the puppy into Steph’s hands. She nodded and she and Dick were out the window in seconds. Talia followed. “I know who to talk to,” she called as she slipped off into the night.

The open window provided enough air for everyone to breathe easier. Bruce slipped back over to the door and listened for a minute.

“Someone outside,” he whispered. “No doubt there to kill the survivors.” He glanced around. “How many swords do we have on hand?”

“Four,” Diana said. “Not enough.”

“Damian, can you get through the window?” Bruce asked.

“Not like this,” he said. “Jon…”

“I’m staying with you,” Jon said.

“Right.” Bruce assessed his team. “Clark, Damian, take the other two swords, you’re trained to use them. Lois, Kara, Alfred, get out.”

They all looked mutinous. “I’m not leaving Diana any more than Jon’s leaving Damian,” Lois snapped. “Just give me a blunt object.”

“Master Bruce, while I appreciate your concern, I am not leaving you to fight a battle on your own,” Alfred said. He reached into his coat and produced a pistol. “I believe you’re more in need of me than ever.”

Bruce blinked. “Why didn’t you tell me you had that?”

“You asked how many swords we had,” Alfred said. “Next time, you might broaden the category to weapons.”

“Noted,” Bruce said. “Kara…”

“Same as Lois,” she said. “Give me a blunt object and I can fight my way out.”

“Find something, then,” Bruce said. “Rest of you, we’re going to break that door…Damian, Jon, stay behind us. Even if you can use a sword, you’re not exactly fighting fit right now.”

Damian nodded and drew his sword.

“On three,” Bruce said. “One…two…three!”

*

Talia ran straight to the inn, not pausing for a moment. She didn’t stop running until she’d burst into the common room, where Tim and his team were sitting up celebrating their victory.

Tim was on his feet the moment she arrived. “What’s happened?” he demanded.

“He’s moving against us,” Talia said. “Tried to gas us to death…we managed an escape but they’ll be fighting their way out now.” She met Tim’s eye. “We can’t do this peacefully…even if Damian gets out, Ra's will try again…the war is starting.”

Tim looked at her for a solid moment before he turned. “Lonnie, get everyone who can fight to the palace, now,” he snapped. “Conner, Talia, get everyone who can’t fight to the streets and start a riot…draw as many guards away from the palace as possible. Jason, Cass, with me.”

They all scurried to obey. Talia followed Conner out into the street, where there were still plenty of people out celebrating. Conner dashed to the middle of the square and leaped up on a platform, pulling his scarf off.

“PEOPLE OF ARAT!” he shouted.

Somehow, that got everyone’s attention. They all turned and someone gasped. “Luthor!”

Conner stood proud, his eyes blazing. “The King has turned on his people,” he called. “Not an hour ago, he tried to have your chosen prince murdered!”

There was a gasp and shouting, cries of anger.

“Will we stand for it?!”

“NO!”

“Then it is time!” Conner drew his sword. “Long have you waited for freedom! Well, I say the time is now! What we are not given we will take!”

There was a shout of assent.

“Luthor!” someone called. “Where is Prince Yurm?!”

Conner smiled. “He goes to the palace, to help his brother,” he said. “But for now—take the streets! Surround the palace and let no one leave it!”

There was a shout. Talia moved back as the people started moving, grabbing whatever weapons they could. She suddenly felt very vulnerable.

Conner looked at her. “Something wrong, princess?”

“I gave Bruce my sword,” she said.

“I’m sure you’ll find another one,” Conner said. “Come on…better get involved before they decide you’re a threat.”

Talia nodded. Conner jumped down and took her hand, guiding her to the front of the quickly growing mob.

*

There weren’t too many guards outside the door—obviously, they had expected the gas to take care of them. Diana and Bruce were able to take them all out on their own before the group moved out, looking around.

“Split up,” Bruce said. “It will be harder to attack us all at once. Damian, I want you to make for the closest exit and get Jon out of here. Diana, Lois, go for the front and find the help Dick and Steph got us. Clark, Kara, find a way out of here and make for safety. Alfred, with me, we’re going to find the King.”

They moved off. Damian hadn’t been around the palace enough to learn the maze of hallways and he and Jon were soon lost, searching for a way out that didn’t involve too much jumping or climbing. After several minutes of frantic running through the corridors, they found themselves in one of the smaller ballrooms.

Damian squeezed Jon’s hand. “It is going to be fine,” he said. “We are going to escape.”

“I wouldn’t be sure,” said another voice from the doorway.

Damian felt Jon tense and shrink back. He turned and saw Zod standing in the door, sword in hand. Damian instantly stepped in front of Jon, his own sword up. “What are you doing here?” he demanded.

“I’m taking my whore back,” Zod said.

Damian saw red. “He is not yours,” he growled. “And he is not a whore.”

“He will be,” Zod said. “Once I’m done with you…he’s good for nothing else.”

Jon was shaking hard enough that Damian could feel it in his bones as he stepped forward. “You will not touch him again,” he said. He raised his sword in a challenge.

Zod lunged and they were off, swords clashing not in a dance, but in a war. Damian fought as hard as he could, using all the skills Diana had taught him, but was barely a match for an opponent much larger and with far more experience. His leg throbbed with every move, his heart pounding far too fast, but he would not give up.

He would not yield.

Damian was not inclined to hatred. Annoyance, sure. Anger, definitely. But true deep, burning hatred? That was something entirely new.

He felt it now, towards this man, the man who had hurt Jon. Damian didn’t know if Jon was his one true love or anything like that, but he loved Jon, wanted him to be happy, and this man had tried to take that from them. This man had scarred him, beaten him, abused him for years, and Damian wasn’t going to let him take Jon back, not until he was dead on the palace floor.

Zod got the first few hits, cutting through Damian’s tunic and drawing blood across his chest. Not deep, but enough to slow him down. Damian struggled to keep his feet, his leg screaming in agony, his hand aching from the unfamiliar feel of the sword. None of it mattered. Whatever else happened, he had to keep Zod away from Jon.

Zod laughed. “You’re weak, boy,” he said. “Too weak to protect him…too weak to be King. It’s a mercy for me to kill you now.” He kept attacking, forcing Damian back into the corner. He smirked and raised his sword for the kill.

Damian barely managed to twist away in time, using his smaller size to his advantage. Zod missed the lunge and turned just a hair too quickly. In desperation, Damian thrust his sword up and somehow found his mark. The sword sunk deep into Zod’s chest, hitting his heart. Damian barely had time to register the look of surprise on his opponent’s face before he pulled his sword out and Zod fell dead on the floor.

Damian stepped back, breathing hard. He stared at the body for a moment before the pain in his leg and chest overwhelmed him and he collapsed. He sat there breathing for a moment before he looked up at Jon. “Are you all right, ak-linel?”

Jon was backed against the wall, staring at Zod’s body in horror. At Damian’s voice, he blinked and managed to look at him. “I…I’m…”

Damian struggled to his feet and went to him, pulling Jon into his arms. “It is over,” he said. “You are safe…he is dead and he will not hurt you again.”

Jon clutched at the back of Damian’s tunic, sobbing into his shoulder. Damian held Jon and soon was crying himself, anger and relief and pain overwhelming him.

They stayed there for a few minutes before the noise outside got their attention. The fighting had clearly spread, more people now involved. Damian sighed and readjusted his grip on his sword. “Come on,” he said. “We cannot stay here.”

Jon took a shuddering breath and nodded. Damian took his hand and they were off again.

*

It didn’t take long for Tim and his siblings to reach the castle, but Lonnie was faster and had the advantage of ten years' study of the rabbit warren of Arat. As they slipped into the palace, Tim could already hear the battle echoing through the ancient corridors.

They had barely gotten ten feet before they were met by a group of guards. Tim and Cass leapt in immediately, swords flashing. They took down the first four easy enough, and as they turned to the fifth, a shot rang out, felling him.

Tim looked at Jason, who merely raised an eyebrow. “This is the twenty-first century,” he said. “You two might have fun reenacting the Three Musketeers but I prefer the direct method.”

“Swords don’t have to be reloaded,” Cass pointed out.

“And when I run out of bullets, I’ll worry about that,” Jason said. “Now, where to?”

“You two find the others,” Tim said. “Diana’s the only one who really knows how to fight, so get them out.” He adjusted his grip on the sword. “I have an appointment with the King.”

Jason and Cass didn’t argue, merely moved off down the corridor. Tim took a deep breath and closed his eyes, remembering the layout of the palace. One good thing about the royals of Sataria, they didn’t like change much. It was barely a moment before Tim was moving again, his feet carrying down the familiar hallways of his childhood home, past the rooms he had explored in his youth, moving automatically towards the room he hated more than any other place in the world.

The throne room was vast, empty, silent. Tim moved to the center of the room, sword in hand, hackles raised. Waiting. Ready.

He heard footsteps outside and turned. Diana and Lois dashed into the room, both looking about as tense as Tim felt. “Tim!” Diana cried. “What are you doing?”

“I’m waiting for the King,” Tim said. “This has been coming for a long time, sister.”

Diana nodded. “Lois, get out of the way.”

Lois slipped into a corner in the back of the room. Diana moved to the other side of the room, intending to watch her brother’s back.

It wasn’t long before more footsteps came from the corridor and Ra's al Ghul stepped into the room, sword in hand. His mouth twisted in a bitter smile when he saw Tim.

“Timothy,” he said. “I should have known you were pulling the heklin’s strings.”

“Did you think I would stay away?” Tim asked.

“I had hoped you were smart enough to do so,” Ra's said.

They stood there for an eternity, their shared history stretching across the room between them. Tim finally nodded. “It’s time,” he said. “You may have cast me out…but I’m still here.” He raised his sword. “And I will not yield.”

Ra's raised his sword as well and it began.

This wasn’t a dance. It wasn’t play. There was none of the laughing, elegant grace of the sil’a roj--none, even, of the wry humor that normally marked Tim’s face and stance. None of the courtesy of when he won--or of the only time he had ever lost. All that Diana could see was the pent up frustration and grief and fury of nine years of exile, all focused with honed and deadly intent on Ra's al Ghul.

Tim had no intention of losing. His whole being was poured into this moment, the long-sleeping wrath boiling over like a dragon rising, provoked into fury by a thousand minor cuts and blows. Tim’s face was grim as he pursued Ra's relentlessly, never once letting up his attack or retreating a fraction, ignoring the pain in his opposite wrist.

Ra's was silent now, focused on defending himself and seeking an opening. Ra's had the advantage of height and strength, but Tim was fast and agile on his feet and forever inventing new angles of attack that Ra's was hard put to recognize and turn aside. Tim drew blood first. Ra's’s sword crashed down on his and locked; Ra's pressing down on Tim with all his superior weight and height. Suddenly, Tim disengaged, slipping fluidly under Ra's’s arm, his saber slicing neatly through Ra's’s sash. Tim straightened, pivoted, and in the moment Ra's was unbalanced struck again, a stinging cut that glanced off Ra's’ shoulder blade and slashed his bicep. Ra's circled; Tim followed, watching him with calculating eyes. Ra's attacked straight on, but it was a feint--whipping out a dagger from his sash, Ra's thrust it at Tim, who twisted sideways, bringing up his sword and incidentally slashing Ra's’ sleeve. Ignoring the bleeding cut across his ribcage, Tim stood his ground and attacked again, only to suddenly lose his balance, stumble and fall.

Ra's walked confidently forward, certain he had won. Tim pushed himself up--Ra's put his foot in the small of Tim’s back and forced him back down and drove the dagger into Tim’s unprotected back.

“An old fox doesn’t go on living by giving up his tricks,” Ra's chuckled, withdrawing the dagger. Tim was trying to say something, but couldn’t get the words out.

Before she even realized she was moving, Diana leaped forward with a loud cry. She struck the poisoned dagger from Ra's’s hand and drove him away from Tim, her only thought to avenge her brother. The world came at her through a haze; Ra's no longer looked triumphant. With a complicated series of attacks, he finally gained a little space--and crumpled suddenly, blood blooming across his shirt as a sword was withdrawn.

“And you, Uncle, should know better than to turn your back on a wounded wildcat,” Tim croaked. Diana caught him as he staggered again. “Should’ve used something faster-acting,” Tim choked.

“Tim!” she cried.

Tim looked at her for a second before he bent double, the poison acting on her now as he retched on the floor. Diana supported him, rubbing his back and making soothing noises. She looked to Lois, standing horrified in the corner. “Get help!” she shouted.

Lois was out the door in a second as Tim crumpled in Diana’s arms, shaking violently. Diana clung to her brother, praying to whatever Gods she could think of.  _ Save my brother. Don’t let this battle have been in vain. _

She heard running in the corridor and turned as Damian and Jon stumbled in. They stared at the scene before them, both looking like the children they really were.

Diana looked at Damian, tears in her eyes. “Lois is fetching the medic, Your Majesty,” she said. “I suggest you go put an end to this.”

“I…”

“The King is dead.” Diana glanced at Tim, whose eyes were closing. “Long live the King.”

*

Damian moved through the palace in a haze. Whenever he passed a battle, he simply called to stop. Somehow, everyone obeyed him.

At last, he and Jon reached the balcony. The cacophony below was deafening, the riots and fighting in the street overwhelming. Jon clung to Damian’s hand, looking terrified. Well, Damian felt terrified. He stepped to the front and after a moment, he managed to turn on the microphone. He cleared his throat and shouted.

“STAND DOWN!”

It took a few repetitions before the order reached out far enough for most of the fighting to stop. Everyone in the square turned to look up at him. Damian swallowed. It was one thing to be up here sassing Ra's, quite another to be directly addressing all his people at once.

“The King is dead,” he announced.

There was a shocked silence for a moment before there came a shout from below of celebration. Damian raised his hand as he had seen his grandfather do and silence fell again.

“I call on all sides to cease fighting,” he continued. “The war is over, and I will not rebuild a country on the blood of its people.”

That did seem to sooth the tension a little.

“Bring all your injured into the palace,” Damian called. “And I call upon any physicians who can to come in and help. All those who fought and died here will be honored in due time.” He felt exhausted, his leg paining him more than ever. He was fairly sure it was bleeding again, along with the cuts across his chest. “I will speak to you all again tomorrow. For now, go home.” He watched as the crowd dispersed, some coming into the palace, others going off. He sagged against the railing, too tired to speak anymore.

Jon was by his side in an instant, pulling him up. “Come on,” he said. “You need that physician as well.” He half-carried Damian back into the palace.

“I do not know where the healing will be set up,” he said.

“I’m sure we’ll find them,” Jon said. “Just stay with me.”

Damian nodded and allowed his husband to take him there.


	9. Chapter 8

A makeshift hospital was set up in the largest room of the palace, a temporary morgue next door. Damian was overwhelmed from the first moment they stepped in. So much blood. So many people, his people, lying there, crying out in pain, waiting for doctors to get to them.

Jon guided him through the maze of people, looking faintly nauseas. They found Tim and Diana near the back. Tim was lying on a pile of blankets that someone had brought up, pale and still. Diana knelt by him, holding his hand.

She glanced up as Jon set Damian gently on the floor. “They managed to find an antidote,” she said. “But he’s going to be down for a bit.” She looked at Damian, frowning. “You?”

“Stitches in my leg burst,” he said. “And Zod got a few lucky hits in.”

“I’ll find a doctor,” Jon said.

“It can wait,” Damian said. “They need to see to my people.”

“Your people want you to be well,” Diana said. “Jon, the doctor.”

Jon nodded and hurried off. Damian leveled a glare at Diana. “I believe I am the King here.”

“You may be the King, but I am still your assistant,” she said. “And part of my job is making sure you don’t die.”

Damian tsked at her, but Jon came hurrying back with a doctor, who immediately set to work on him. “You will be fine, Your Majesty,” he said. “Rest…no strenuous activity for a few weeks.”

“Thank you,” Damian said.

“I suggest you go back to your own bed,” the doctor said.

Damian shook his head. “I will stay with my brother.”

The doctor glanced at Tim, then bowed. “Your Majesty.”

“Dismissed.”

The doctor scurried away again. Diana and Jon exchanged a look.

“More blankets,” Jon said, a slight tone of authority in his voice. “And sedatives, if you can find them.”

Diana nodded and stood to fetch them. Damian half-smiled at Jon and took his hand, still sitting slumped against the wall.

They barely had a second of peace before the doors opened and Bruce came hurtling into the room, Clark and Alfred close at his heels. He looked around and Damian waved. Bruce’s face cleared and he hurried over.

“Dami! Are you okay?”

“I am fine, Father…the wounds were superficial.”

Bruce looked down at Tim, and the look on his face broke Damian’s heart. “Oh, Tim,” he murmured, reaching down to run a hand through his hair.

“He should recover,” Damian said. “He will just be in bed for a bit.”

“I didn’t even know…”

“He did not wish to worry you,” Damian said. “And he knew that your communications were being monitored…he found it easier to overthrow the government on his own.”

Bruce moved and sat down on Tim’s other side. Clark joined him, looking miserable for a moment before he glanced at Jon. “How are you doing?” he asked.

Jon gave a small smile. “I’m unhurt,” he said. “Damian made sure of that.”

Just then, Diana returned, a bundle of blankets and a pill bottle in hand. “Here,” she said, passing them down to Damian. He and Jon moved to form a sort of nest next to Tim before Damian accepted the pills and swallowed two before curling up, his head cushioned on Jon’s lap.

He could hear the adults talking, but after the adrenaline and pills, he was soon unconscious, Jon’s hand running soothingly through his hair.

*

There was noise. Lots of noise, lots of chaos.

Tim stirred and blinked. Right. Awake. Alive. That was a good start.

Someone was holding his hand. Someone else was petting his hair. He turned to one side and saw Diana. He half-smiled at her.

She half-smiled back. “Don’t you scare me like that,” she snapped.

“Yeah, well,” Tim said. “Payback’s a bitch.” He glanced to the other side, where Cass was sitting next to him. “Hey there.”

Cass didn’t smile, exactly, but Tim knew she was pleased. “Your Highness,” she murmured, teasing.

Tim blinked again and glanced around. “We’re still at the palace?”

“Yes,” Diana said. “Field hospital for now…Damian was just discharged yesterday.”

“The others?”

“Conner and Lonnie got a bit roughed up in the riot,” Cass said. “And Jason took a few hits…the others are all fine, minor scrapes and bruises if anything…Bruce has been worrying about you…”

“How long was I out?” Tim asked.

“You’ve been drifting for three days,” Diana said.

“Where is Bruce now?” Tim asked.

“Alfred made him go to bed,” Cass said. “He’s barely slept since the battle…well, none of us have, but Alfred finally put his foot down yesterday and said we need to take it in shifts.”

Tim nodded. “So…the government?”

“Damian has everything under control for now,” Diana said. “I mean…after that much upheaval, the government will listen to whoever’s talking. But he’s waiting for you to recover before he makes any changes.”

“Tell him I want to see him tomorrow,” Tim said. “We need to get everything settled quickly…the revolution may have left the nobility reeling a bit, but Damian alone won’t hold onto power for long.”

Diana nodded. “I will tell him,” she promised. “Go back to sleep.”

Tim squeezed her hand and settled in to sleep again.

*

The next few days were extremely chaotic.

Damian was doing his level best to figure out how to run an entire country, at least for a few weeks while Tim recovered, and it was a lot more work than he’d ever imagined. It seemed that everyone in Sataria wanted his personal opinion on every single decision that needed to be made, from what should be cooked in the palace kitchen that night to what the tax rate should be for the next year.

It was all very tedious and frustrating, even with a whole family of people willing and ready to help.

Damian didn’t intend to promote the entire Wayne family to government positions, but he was desperate for help from people he trusted, so after the first two days of trying to get through the mountain of requests on his own, he had started handing them off to whoever was bothering him at the moment. It was a great help, though not enough since Damian didn’t know anything about running a government.

Thankfully it was only for a few days. Not quite a week after the battle, Tim came into Damian’s office, looking pale but otherwise recovered.

“Your Majesty,” Tim said with an ironic little bow.

Damian rolled his eyes. “I wish everyone would stop calling me that,” he said. “I will only be King until you are ready for me to dissolve the monarchy.”

Tim sat down across the desk. “I’ve been ready for it to be dissolved for over ten years,” he said. “I’ve spent my exile refining a plan…obviously it will need to be looked at and revised for the current Sataria, but I think it will work…unicameral legislature, Sataria’s small enough we don’t need anything else…elections every five years, everyone over sixteen allowed to vote…direct elections, and senators will be expected to spend any time not in congress back in their districts…citizens voting on major legislation…” He grinned as he noticed Damian’s eyes glaze over. “Well…the point is, I’ve mostly got it worked out and I just need to implement it. It’s going to take time, but dissolving the monarchy is the first step, and you’re the only one who can do that.”

“Right,” Damian said. “So…how do I do it?”

Tim shrugged. “You just declare it, I guess.”

Damian nodded. “Do you think you will be ready to speak to them tomorrow?”

Tim smiled. “I’ve been waiting for ten years,” he said. “One more day won’t make much difference.”

*

It seemed everyone in Arat had turned out to hear Damian’s announcement. He was shocked—he had only put out the notice that there would be an announcement that morning. Still, here he was, and there they all were. Damian took a deep breath and stepped forward.

“My people,” he called, and silence fell. “There have been a lot of questions of late as to what my government will look like.” He took another breath. “And I have been asked when I will hold the coronation. I am pleased to announce that there will be none.”

Muttering broke out. Damian waited a moment before he raised his hand for silence.

“I am grateful for the trust you all placed in me by choosing me to be your prince,” he continued. “But I think we all know that I was not who you all wanted. So…” He swallowed. “As of this moment, the monarchy of Sataria is dissolved. A new democratic system will be formed, so that the people may help govern themselves, as they are meant to.”

There was a shocked silence. Damian plowed on before any protests could start.

“I will remain in Sataria to oversee the transition,” he said. “But as to the government itself, I leave it in the hands of the one you all want.” He made a gesture. “I call on my cousin, Yurem Timothy Jackson al Ghul Drake-Wayne, to form his government, as you have all wanted for years.”

Tim stepped out on the balcony. A cheer went up from below, people calling out to him, welcoming him back. Tim smiled, broad and real, a smile Damian had never seen before, and raised his hand in greeting. Damian stepped aside and let Tim take the microphone.

“Et’na dami!” he called.

Everyone below called back, laughter and cheering floating up to the balcony. Tim just stood there, letting the crowd shout themselves out, and finally spoke.

“As you all know,” he said. “It has been a long ten years of exile for me. But in that time, I never once gave up hope of returning to all of you, to deliver what I promised all those years ago. And if you will all indulge me, I would like to lay out my plans. Obviously, they will need your approval, and it will take time to make it work, but I believe that what I have is the best choice for Sataria.”

There was a roar of approval. Tim waited before he launched into a very long speech laying out her new form of government.

Damian stayed and listened for a bit before he managed to slip away. Let Tim prattle on about democracies and unicameral legislatures and whatever else was in his plans. Right now, Damian was mostly relieved that the journey was almost done.

*

“Hey, Jon?”

“Hmm?” Jon rolled over and looked at Damian, a sleepy little smile around his lips. They had spent the last few weeks in the royal suite—Tim had refused to set foot in it, and, well, no use wasting such a nice bed.

Damian looked at him for a long moment. He’d been thinking through this conversation all day, and it was terrifying. “So…Drake is forming his new government,” he said. “And…I will be overseeing the transition, officially, but he has it all in hand…and Bruce is helping, and so is everyone else, but…well, he is hoping to hold elections in a year and…and once the elections are over, he will need us to leave Sataria on its own.”

“Yes?” Jon said.

Damian swallowed. “Well…I wanted to know what you want to do once the election is over,” he said. “Whether you want to go back to Gotham or stay in Sataria or…or anything else.”

Jon frowned at him. “I…are you going back to Gotham?” he asked.

Damian sighed. “I do not know,” he said. “Before…when I first started the ke’la manji…I thought I would, once Drake had taken Sataria, but now…well…it is not just me.” He moved close and ran his hand through Jon’s hair. “Gotham is home…but I do not think I can just go back to life as it was after all this…and I certainly cannot go back to life without you.” He looked deeply into Jon’s eyes. “So…wherever you want to be…I want to be beside you.”

Jon was quiet for a long time, gazing at Damian with an odd expression on his face. Finally, he spoke. “Arat has never been home,” he said. “Not really…I grew up here, but I was miserable. Sunib was better, but I was always hiding, always running there. And now…I think my home is wherever you are. But…once the new government is in place, Sataria will have no place for me. So…if it’s all right…I think I would like to go to Gotham with you.”

Damian smiled softly. “You will love it,” he promised. “It is…large, but it is modern. And there is a district…New Arat…so you will not be completely disconnected from Sataria. And…and we can hire tutors, and…and therapists, and…and we can help you. With everything.”

Jon smiled back and pressed his forehead to Damian’s. They stayed there a moment before Jon spoke again. “Mr. Kent…Clark…he said something about reconstructive surgery, back when we were trying to make me beautiful.”

“Oh.” Damian was a bit surprised. “I mean…if you want, I am sure we can arrange it…but…but only if it is what you want.”

Jon looked confused. “You don’t want me to look…how I was before?”

Damian pulled back and studied Jon’s face. The acid scars were as violent as ever, the blue eyes worried. Damian had gotten used to it over the past few months, and now…

“I think you look perfect,” he said. “I would not change anything about you.”

Jon sighed. “Almost all of me is scarred,” he said. “Zod…”

“That is over,” Damian said. “If you want those scars gone...I will make sure it happens.”

Jon was quiet again. After an age, he spoke again. “They don’t hurt as much,” he said. “And…in a way…I’m proud of them. They tell the world what happened to me. They say that I survived…that I’m worth loving because of more than my face.” He looked back at Damian with a slight smile. “If you don’t mind…I’d like to stay this way.”

Damian kissed him, gentle and loving. “I do not mind at all,” he said. “You are beautiful, Jon…and you are stronger than those scars.”

“No,” Jon said. “I am strong because of them.”

*

Tim stood in the middle of the throne room, alone.

Three weeks. Three weeks since he had killed Ra's in this room. Three weeks since he had shaken off his exile and taken back his country.

Three weeks since he had almost died in his sister’s arms.

He was shaking, he knew, but if he was going to form a government in this place, he needed to get over it. Already he had half-formed plans for renovating the palace into a government hall, and the throne room was the only space that could be set up for the senate. Tim didn’t know what his role in the new government would be—that would rather depend on the elections—but he certainly wasn’t just going to leave Sataria to its own devices.

There was a soft cough behind him. He turned and half-smiled at Conner. “Looking for me?”

“Just a bit,” Conner said. “We’ve barely talked since the battle.”

“I’m all right,” Tim said.

“I know you are,” Conner said. “I mean…you have everything you wanted. Sure, it’s going to suck at first, but…”

“But it’s worth it,” Tim said. “Sataria will be a free country…and hopefully at least a few of the legislative reforms Damian gave me will go through.” He sighed. “I will miss Gotham, though…it was…well. I was happy there.”

“Yeah,” Conner said. He almost smiled. “You went from delicate little prince to badass fundraiser in under a year…it was…well, it was awesome to watch.”

“You were pretty awesome, too,” Tim said. “Smuggling all those refugees out of Sataria…getting shipping lines to New Arat…you saved so many people…including me.”

Conner nodded and then smirked. “I believe I’ve completed your impossible task, Your Highness,” he said, his voice soft and teasing.

“So you have,” Tim said. “I suppose that means I have to marry you.”

“Yes,” Conner said. “I suppose it does.” He stepped across the room and picked up a sword. “Si’la!”

Tim drew his own with a smile. “Roj et’ni.”

They danced, smooth and graceful, like they had practiced for years. In his heart, Tim knew that they had, that he had spent the last ten years waiting for this moment, this chance.

After several minutes, Tim spun and knelt. “Conner Luthor,” he said. “I accept your proposal.”

Conner took Tim’s hand and raised him to his feet. “Timothy Drake,” he breathed. “I am overjoyed to hear you say so.”


	10. Epilogue

_ One year later _

“I don’t understand it,” Tim grumbled. “What was the point of dissolving the monarchy if they’re just going to keep our family in power?”

“That’s your reaction to winning an election?” Bruce said. “In a landslide victory, no less.”

“I suppose I should have expected it,” Tim said. “But still…”

Diana sighed and rolled her eyes. “You’re the president of Sataria,” she said. “Whether you like it or not. Besides…you’ve overseen the transition very well. Of course they don’t want too many changes at once.”

Tim nodded. “Yeah,” he said. “I suppose not.” He glanced around at the family who had stayed—Dick had rushed back to Gotham as soon as Damian became king to help Barbara with something, and Steph had returned to work. Jason and Kara had already left as well, saying they never wanted to set foot in Sataria again, but everyone else had remained to help with the transition. “So you’re all leaving next week?”

“Finally,” Damian said. “Two years away from Gotham…it has been a good experience, but I feel I am ready to go home.”

“Not me,” Cass said. “I’m going to stick around and cause trouble for you.”

“I’d expect nothing less,” Tim said.

“We’re staying,” Diana said.

Tim looked at her in surprise. “But…”

“You’re my brother, Tim. And you might have won the election easily, but you still have enemies. I’ll feel better watching your back.”

Tim looked to Lois. “And you’re okay with this?”

“Are you kidding?” Lois said. “New country, new government, and the possibility of sword fights on the senate floor? This is the best place for any reporter, and there aren’t many Americans who can speak Satarian.”

“I’ve told them to keep swords sheathed,” Tim grumbled.

Damian scowled. “This is very inconvenient,” he said.

Diana raised her eyebrows. “Inconvenient?”

“I will have to find a new assistant,” Damian said.

Diana smiled. “I’ll miss you too.”

*

Gotham looked so strange.

Damian knew that two years away would make any place seem strange, but this was Gotham. This was home. It shouldn’t feel so foreign to him.

Jon looked around in wonder as they drove back to the manor.

“It’s beautiful,” he said. “But…kind of grim.”

“Grim?” Damian repeated. “I mean…the architecture is somewhat gothic-inspired, but…”

“It’s quiet,” Jon said. “And…there aren’t as many people on the street.”

“Oh.” Damian realized the issue. “Well…it is not like Arat, anyway,” he said. “People in Gotham…they like to be inside. They do not…they are quieter than the people of Arat.”

Jon nodded. “I could get used to quiet,” he said. “Sometimes.”

Damian leaned forward. “Father, can you drop us at New Arat?”

Bruce glanced back. “Ease into the culture shock?”

“Exactly.”

Bruce did as he was told, and soon Damian and Jon were walking hand-in-hand through the streets of New Arat.

It was quieter than Sataria, of course, but not as quiet as Gotham. Jon breathed in, half-smiling. It wasn’t Arat, but it was alive. And one day, it would be home.

“Will you be all right?” Damian asked. “In Gotham, I mean.”

“I think so,” Jon said. “Just give me time to get used to it.”

Damian nodded. After everything, he was going to need time as well.

But he looked at Jon, who gave him a sweet little gap-toothed smile, and decided it was okay.

Everything was going to be okay.


End file.
